


Maidens and Mothers

by alijah



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Free to a good home, Gen, I'm Sorry, Not Canon Compliant, Silberias, playing fast and loose with timelines, random thoughts, this is all her fault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-13 06:49:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 73,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4512045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alijah/pseuds/alijah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I have always wondered why everyone was so keen to marry Cersei off and no one suggested the same for Catelyn when she is both more fertile and does not have the stigma of "incest rumours" hanging over her head. So I mentioned it to Silberias and then she suggested this. So this happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Silberias](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silberias/gifts).



Catelyn’s hands shook as she read the letter. Her daughter wrote of treason and plots and Ned, _her Ned’s_ death. Robb stood behind her and when she turned to look at him she could see the terror written on his face.

“Why, how, I don’t – Father wouldn’t do this, he loved Robert. Why is Sansa writing this?” Robb implored. His belief in his father’s goodness and honour burned as bright as always.

“This is your sister’s hand my son, but these are not her words. She is a hostage now; do not doubt that for a second. Her life and Arya’s life depend on us. You must call the banners” Catelyn answered. Her mind, which before had been silent, a graveyard of memories was filling with ideas and plans.

“I will write to my father and sister now as well, Maester Luwin will assist you. We will rescue you sisters and take vengeance on your fathers killers”.

 

* * *

 

 

As she rode through the gates of her childhood home, she cast her mind back to when she first laid eyes on the man who would become her husband.

_She had been inconsolable since she got the news that her beloved Brandon was dead. Her father had tried to provide her solace by telling her that she would still be Lady of Winterfell but none of that mattered if she couldn’t have the man she loved. He, who spoke so elegantly and was so flattering and kind, Brandon who had some new and lovely way to praise her every time they spoke – killed by a madman for love of his sister. Now she would marry his dour brother, raised alongside Robert Baratheon, who already had fathered one bastard._

_She could see a party riding hard in the distance from her position on the battlements. Though there was no clear sigil, at least that she could see, the speed of the party coupled with the direction it was coming from meant only one thing. Her and her sister’s futures were upon them. Jon Arryn and Eddard Stark would be there before the hour was out._

_Her father had called her and her sister to welcome the Lords to Riverrun and as she waited for the doors to open she spied tears on her sisters face. Catelyn reached out her hand and gripped her sisters hard. Family, Duty, Honour – the words she whispered to herself, the only thing stopping her from fleeing this room and this life. The doors opened and in walked her father. She recognized Lord Arryn and the man who walked beside him. He was tall, with a long face and sad eyes. Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, she watched him as his eyes moved from around the room before stopping on her. He was not as handsome as Brandon but, she would do as her Septa had instructed and find something beautiful in him. She settled on his eyes, grey the same colour as Brandon._

A cry of ‘Sister’ brought Catelyn back to reality, her brother Edmure walking up to help her dismount. He helped her down off her horse while offering condolences for her loss. Edmure directed a stable hand, Mychal her brother called him, to take her and her companion’s, Rodrick Cassel and Tomas Snow’s horses to be stabled.

“Our Father is waiting inside, my Lady, he would have been here to greet you but his health is not what it once was” Edmure informed her. This new knowledge was worrying especially in the face of what she predicted would be upheaval not seen since the Rebellion.

 

* * *

 

“My darling daughter” Lord Hoster’s voice echoed in the great hall of Riverrun. “Come, let me look at you”. Catelyn walked, and then ran to embrace her father. The tears she had not allowed herself to shed in front her son now fell.

“I need your help” Catelyn whispered. _War, the unspoken words, a plea, I need you to go to war._

“I have written to my Lords and Bannermen, sweetling, we will not allow this crime to go on” her father’s words, a reassurance, were a balm to her. She would not have to face this alone.

“Robb has called the Northman, they are congregating in Winterfell and then he will march south. I have instructed him to meet me here. The forces of the Riverland’s, the North and the Vale of Arryn combined will again ride and war together to avenge a Stark Lord. _Robert’s Rebellion comes again. I guess it is true what they say about history repeating itself. Robb’s Rebellion. Robert’s Rebellion._ A wave of nausea came over her then at the thought of her boy, born in this very castle going to war. I must be strong; I am a Stark and a Tully. _For Eddard, for Sansa, for Arya, for Robb, and for Brandon who had been so broken by the Lannister evil. The imp. Catelyn would have her revenge, this she vowed to herself._

Her father and brother shared a look, one shared by people who do not wish to break bad news.

“About the Vale, your sister…” Hoster trailed off then. Silently she turned to her brother.

“What about the Vale. I saw Lysa only three moons ago; she helped me put the Imp on trial. Has something happened to her?” Her stomach curdled as worry began to grow. The continued silence of her family only making her anxieties worse. “Well?” Catelyn asked.

“Nothing has happened to Lysa –” Edmure started.

“That we know of” interrupted Hoster.

“That we know of” her brother agreed, “that is the problem; we have sent ravens to the Eyrie. To endeavour to arrange armies, but we have not heard back. Not from Lysa. Your uncle Brynden is considering travelling to the Vale to see what has happened. It is probably an issue with the ravens and nothing more” Edmure finished.

“None the less, you are right and the Vale’s intentions in this war” _for it will be a war, Catelyn thought to herself._ “Must be discovered.” Catelyn responded, “I will join Uncle Brynden in his travels.” Here she paused for a moment before continuing “I had hoped to travel to the stormlands to make an alliance with either Renly or Stannis, but ensuring we have the Vale will take precedent. We cannot make new alliances if our old ones aren’t steady.”

“It will take a few days to gather everything you need for the journey; you must be exhausted after travelling all this way. Edmure will assist you in taking your things to your rooms. I will send for Brynden to join us for supper” Hoster stated.

 

* * *

 

 

Brynden saddled his horse, before turning to his niece. “Are you sure you want to travel with so small a party, dear one? I am sure that my brother would be more than happy enough to provide you with more knights” he queried.

“Five is enough Uncle. In this case speed is of utmost import and anymore people would slow us down. Besides I have you, Rodrick Cassel, Tomas Snow and Ser Robin Ryker, I am plenty safe enough.” Catelyn surmised. She allowed her uncle to assist her in mounting her horse. As she looked around the courtyard while she waited for the rest of her party to equip their horses Catelyn hoped that Lysa would prove more willing to help than her father thought.

 

* * *

 

 

“Well, m’lady, we have arrived” Tomas Snow grunted. He was, as they all were, exhausted from their flight through the Riverland’s up to the Bloody Gate.

“Who would pass the Bloody Gate” roared from above their heads. Catelyn began to respond but was interrupted.

“Your predecessor, Ser Brynden Tully and his niece, sister to the Lady of the Eyrie, Lady Catelyn Stark and their party” her uncle boomed. “Lets us through Ser Donnel”.

The gates creaked as they opened and the group continued through. Ser Donnel saluting Brynden as they travelled.

The party was silent as the continued, the only noise being the clomping of the horses hooves. They slowed as they reached the Gates of the Moon. Lord Nestor came out to meet them.

“My Lady, Ser’s, Welcome to the Gates of the Moon. You are all welcome to my hospitality for as long as you wish” Lord Nestor wheezed.

“That is very kind of you, my Lord, but we will only be troubling you for one night before we press on to my sister” Catelyn murmered. The exhaustion was starting to set in and she was finding it difficult to stay astride. Catelyn stumbled as she was helped off her horse by Tomas. Lord Nestor directed some of his servants out to put away their horses and take them too their rooms. “My Lord,” Catelyn yawned, “We have had a long journey, would it be too much to ask for a tray to be sent to my rooms, I wish to retire for the night”.

“Of course, my Lady I will see to it at once. Mya Stone will be ready in the morning with her mules to take you up to the Eyrie” boomed Lord Nestor.

 

* * *

 

 

“Sister” Lady Lysa smiled from the Arryn’s weirwood throne. “How… lovely to see you again so soon. What has brought you to the Vale of Arryn?”

“You know very well what has brought me here.” Catelyn snapped. “You did not respond to my son or our father’s ravens. I have come to entreat you for your aid to avenge my husband and rescue my daughters. _Your nieces_.” Catelyn stressed. Lysa’s composure seemed to waiver, and then she straightened her spine.

“I have not responded to you or father’s ravens because I have nothing to say.” Lysa sniffed. “I have made the decision that it is in the best interests of my son for the Vale to remain neutral.”

“Did you not receive the raven from Stannis Baratheon” Brynden spat. “Do you not know of the affront to the gods, it is in the best interests of your son not to avenge his father on the _lying faithless –_ ”

“Uncle please” Catelyn broke in “That is why I have travelled here, Lysa to beg of you. I need your help. I am your sister, Lysa please” She begged.

“You need my help?, and what of when I needed your help. Where were you when father tricked me into drinking tansy. When he killed my babe from inside me” Lysa surged to her feet “You beg me for help, yet you were silent when I was sold as _damaged goods_ to a man old enough to have fathered my father. A man of sixty and five when I was a girl of ten and four. A man with two wives behind him and no children. Whose impotency had left two women before me childless. A man desperate enough for an heir he would marry someone _ruined_ while you got to gallivant off to the North with someone who loved you and treasured you and was kind and would not, was not.” Lysa choked as her tears threatened to spill. “I am the Lady of the Vale and you are welcome to my hospitality, not my armies” she declared. There was silence as the Lady of the Vale and the Lady of Winterfell stood mirroring each other.The sound shocked Catelyn out of her stupor and her and Lysa turned to stare at her Uncle who was turning alternately red and white. 

“Wha– , What– , I don’t – , What did you – ” Brynden sputtered. Catelyn and Lysa looked at eachother then.

“Uncle, are you –” Catelyn was interrupted.

“What do you mean _tricked into drinking tansy_ ” her Uncle barked. “What are you talking about _damaged goods_ ”.

“I was in mourning at the time so I don’t know all the details, but surely father told you. Lysa fell pregnant around the same time Brandon died. Remember, she was confined in her rooms?. Father brought her some tea and told her it would help the babe”

“Needless to say moon tea did not help anything” Lysa muttered. “Not that I knew what it was till my baby bled out of me”.

“What are you both talking about” Brynden exploded.

“What do you mean what are we talking about” hissed Lysa.

“No, wait Lysa. This was just after Brandon had died. Uncle Brynden had ridden out the day after we got the news of what happened in Kings Landing. He was on his way to Harrenhal to marshal our forces.” recalled Catelyn.

“Again, what on earth are you two on about” questioned Brynden. Although by the queasy look on his face he seemed to be coming to the horrifying realisation on his own.

“You really didn’t know?” Lysa asked softly.

“Did you honestly never wonder why Hoster married Lysa to a man that old, Uncle” Catelyn questioned.

“I, we needed to cement our alliance” he quavered.

“We did, Hoster also needed to be rid of a potential shame on the families honour” Lysa pointed out.

“None of this is getting us anywhere, Lysa I am sorry I did not protect you as I should have, but what happened is unalterable. We cannot do anything about it. We can still help Sansa. Please, sister, for the love you once had for me.” Catelyn coaxed. “Please”. Lysa took a deep breath, then all was silent. The minute stretched on before she spoke.

“Marriage was my prison for so long. Never again.” Lysa stressed.

“So you will help?” Catelyn began to hope.

“I will help.” Lysa responded.

“Lysa, I swear I had no idea. Why didn’t you tell me. I could have protected you” Brynden proclaimed. “I’m sorry. I am so sorry”

“Protected me, how? Catelyn is right. What’s done is done.” Lysa reasoned. “We must begin anew. If the Vale is to fight I need to muster her troops. I will send the ravens, let us reconvene for the midday meal here”

 

* * *

 

 

Catelyn and Brynden entered the room to find Lysa seated at a table with two other place setting. A maid was placing a tray of sandwiches and pear cakes on the table.

“Come, sit we have much to discuss. I have instructed my Lords to send their men to Riverrun where I shall meet them.” Lysa began “We need to talk about strategies, allies and so forth”.

“I was planning on riding to Storms End to treat with Renly” Catelyn divulged.

“So you haven’t heard? What am I saying of course you haven’t heard you would have been riding to the Eyrie.” Lysa muttered.

“Haven’t heard what Lysa?” Brynden asked quietly. He was quiet now with Lysa, soft.

“Renly died. Rumour has it one of his ‘Rainbow Guard’ killed him, the woman. She claims it was a demon with the face of Stannis. Given his relationship with that Red Priestess I wouldn’t be surprised. Renly’s stormlander army has defected. No word yet on what the Tyrell’s are doing.” Lysa explained. “This of course leaves Stannis as the defacto King in this little rebellion”

“Robb’s rebellion” Catelyn murmured.

“Pardon?” queried Lysa.

“Oh, just something I was thinking about earlier. History repeating itself, a mad king killing a Stark lord and a man named Robb rebelling for the love of a Stark Lady”. Catelyn replied.

“That is an interesting thought, but all this is for naught if we do not have a plan to deal with Tywin Lannister.” Lysa interjected “This war will be won or lost the same way all wars since the death of the dragons have been won or lost – through alliances. Alliances which are created, like always through marriages. The Tyrells command an army of thousands and are currently allied to no one  in this war. We must ally with them if only to prevent them allying with Tywin and the illborn”.

“Illborn?” Catelyn asked.

“The name they have given to Cersei’s bastards” Lysa clarified.

“Whatever you call them is irrelevant. Lysa is right, we must find a way to ally ourselves with the Tyrells before Tywin does” Brynden cautioned.

“Okay so let’s plan. Who do we have that can enter into a marriage pact and we need to include everyone. Long betrothals are not the best option but they can work” Lysa wondered. Catelyn moved a sheet of parchment into the centre of the table and started to make a list.

**_Marriage Candidates_**  
  
---  
  
**_Male_**

  *          **_Robb_**
  *          **_Brandon_**
  *          **_Rickon_**
  *          **_Edmure_**
  *          **_Robin_**

| 

**_Female_**

  *          **_Sansa (Hostage)_**
  *          **_Arya (Hostage)_**
  *          **_Catelyn_**

  
  
 

“So we have decided to ally ourselves with the Tyrells, yes?” Brynden confirmed.

“Yes, in order to do that we need to bind them to us and us to them. They have a daughter, Margaery who is of an age with Robb. That would be a good match” Catelyn speculated.

“The heir to Highgarden is also unmarried” Lysa mused.

“Both my daughters are hostage’s, the Lannister’s are hardly going to hand them over to us, especially not so that we can make an alliance” Catelyn reminded her sister.

“That is true, but it is not them I was thinking about. Eddard’s death makes you a widow and as a daughter of house Tully and mother to the Lord of Winterfell you are quite eligible.” Lysa continued.

“I am also five and thirty” Catelyn snapped. “How can you think that I would marry again. I loved Ned.”

“I can think you would marry again because it is what is necessary to ensure we win this war. You need only birth one child. It is hard I know, but you will have more autonomy than I did and I survived. Anyway this could all be a moot point if the Tyrells say no.”

_For Sansa, for Arya, for Bran, for Rickon, for Robb, for Ned_ echoed in Catelyns head.

“We also need a strategy for saving my daughters” Catelyn insisted.

“For that, our best strategy is to take Kings Landing, or take a valuable hostage when we wage war on Tywin Lannister – valuable enough to trade. In the meantime I will – and you should as well – write to Petyr, and see if he can think of something. He owes me his position at court and I do not think he would forget that”

“Write the letter’s” she decreed. Ask them to send the replies to Riverrun. “Uncle, Lysa we must journey there now. Irregardless of what the Tyrells decide to do that is where our forces are and that is where we must be to take down Lord Tywin. And Lysa, you must decide whether or not you will take Lord Robin or leave him here”

 

* * *

 

_To My Lord Mace, Head of the House Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden, Defender of the Marches, High Marshal of the Reach, and Warden of the South I, Lady Catelyn of House’s Tully and Stark send firstly my condolence’s on the loss of your goodson King Reny of the House Baratheon. I am writing this missive to suggest an alliance between the Reach and the combined might of the Riverlands, the North, and the Vale of Arryn against the Lannisters, Queen Cersei and the Illborn Joffrey Waters. To cement this alliance I would suggest a marriage between your daughter Lady Margaery and my son Lord Robb, Head of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North. I would also suggest a marriage betwixt myself and your son and heir Lord Willas. Best wishes._

_Lady Catelyn_

_P.S. Send all replies to Riverrun._


	2. Chapter 2

Petyr,

I need your help smuggling my daughters out of the city of Kings Landing. I know that if anyone can perform such an act under the watchful eyes of the Lannister’s it is you. You, my ever faithful friend. Please, hurry I beseech you.

Catelyn

* * *

 

Dear Petyr.

I am writing you about my nieces, the Ladies Sansa and Arya of the House Stark, in the hope that you could, with your bountiful intelligence, perform a miracle and get them out of the cesspit we call a capital. You and I Petyr, we have a bond, unbreakable. I would hate to be left in tears if you should fail.

Ever Faithful, Lysa

P.S. if you could also send some silks from Lys, I would be most grateful.

* * *

 

Olenna Tyrell sat down on the oak Lords chair, in her son’s solar. “Renly is no more and Stannis already has a wife. Mace I think it is time you let go of this ridiculous notion you have of making Margaery queen” she croaked.

“Mother, Lord Tywin has written with the possibility of marrying Margaery to Joffrey. She could still be Queen” Mace corrected.

“Queen to a madman. No, I don’t think so. You might be quite happy to barter her off to anyone with a crown but I will not see my granddaughter wed to such a person” Olenna grumbled. “Besides have you not heard the rumours of what he has done to that poor stark girl? Also with the rumours of dragons in the east, a Lannister alliance is out of the question. I will not see the Tyrell’s fall.”

Olenna looked at her son and was filled with disappointment. Was this her legacy to the world, a grasping ambitious man filled with pride he had not earned? No, she decided to herself. I will not let that be my legacy. She thought to the letter they had received from Catelyn Stark. She was old, older than Olenna would have wanted for a wife for Willas but her son would be a good match for Margaery and she herself had proven to be fertile. Robb Stark, Margaery Stark, the Winter Rose. Yes, and hopefully the boy would prove more astute than his father had been, but even if he did not she had faith that Margaery, her _true_ heir would be able to mold him. The more she thought about it the more she liked the idea. A daughter of house Tully was nothing to turn your nose up at being sister to the Lady of the Vale and mother to the Lord of the North was a powerful position to be in. Even if she birthed no children for Willas, Garlan would be a capable enough lord and him and Leonette had shown no small amount of passion for the creating of children. Her bones creaked as she snapped to her manservant “write this down”. She turned to the window and while facing the Rose Maze started dictating.

 

* * *

 

To Lady Catelyn Tully, Lady Olenna Tyrell sends greetings.

We have received your missive and are gladdened to have this opportunity to ally our houses. A marriage between my grandson Lord Willas and yourself a daughter of House Tully is most welcome. The match suggested between my granddaughter Margaery and your son Robb is also, we agree a good one. We journey to meet you at Riverrun. Margaery’s dowry shall be our assistance in gaining justice for your deceased.

* * *

 

The wind blew through Catelyn’s hair as she rode towards Riverrun. The journey back from the Eyrie was calmer than the journey toward and she was gladdened to be making it with her sister. Brynden and Lysa had had a loud and explosive argument (proving the rumours about the Tully temper true) and now her uncle was hovering around Lysa with all the protective instincts of a mother duck. It was both adorable and worrying in turns. Worrying because it predicted a violent outburst when Brynden and her father reunited. They travelled at a more sedate pace because of the assurances of the Vale might lessened the need for swiftness, and because they were accompanied by her nephew Robin who was prone to fits and shaking. She hoped that the warmth of Riverrun might help improve his health as well as the guidance of a new Maester.

As they arrived at Riverrun they could see the beginnings of an army congregating, a quartered black dragon on a white field and two golden eyes in a golden ring on a black field, A red salmon within a gold tressure on a white field, A silver eagle displayed on an indigo field, A green weeping willow on a white field and the Tully trout among others flew from flags raised in and around the camp. When the main gate opened she looked to her sister whose horse had stopped. Slowly Lysa took a deep breath and they crossed, the tumblestone’s waves washing wistfully against the shores. There was a thud as Brynden slipped of his horse to face his brother who had come out to meet the party.

“Lysa, daughter, you surprise me. I had thought your silence meant the Vale would not take part in this war” he greeted. Lysa stiffened then placed a calming hand on Brynden’s forearm.

“I am happy to be here father” she simpered. “Seeing you reminds me of all the _fond_ memories I have of Riverrun. Perhaps while we are here you might offer us some refreshments. Especially since we had such a tiring journey” Lysa reasoned.

“Of course, daughters please come in and partake of my bread and salt. Edmure, see that their horses and their companion’s horses are stabled” Hoster rumbled. Edmure assisted Catelyn and Lysa down of off their horses.

“Mychal, please come and take these horses to the stables” Edmure requested. “Catelyn, Lysa I hope the horses were comfortable enough”

“They were fine Edmure” Lysa replied.

“And you Uncle? how did the horses treat you” Edmure chortled “Comfortable enough for your old bones”. There was a beat of silence before Catelyn and Lysa started laughing.

“Yes, yes laugh at your old Uncle.” He rolled his eyes. “You know me Edmure, tough as old nails, I am” Brynden joked “and just as rusty”.

* * *

 

Lysa entered the castle of Riverrun with trepidation holding her son’s hand tightly in hers. The last time she had been here she was a girl newly wedded and about to leave with a man she barely knew to start a new life. The halls did not look as though they had changed at all and yet with every step it felt like somewhere she had never been. _You are a different person than the one who wandered these halls, grown from the girl who dreamed of a fair knight who would love and cherish you. The songs of your youth were lies, pretty lies that turned out all the more damning for their beauty._ Her father had spoken to Catelyn as they arrived; saying that the Tyrells had sent a raven and that it was waiting for her in his Solar, the triangular room that once inspired so much fear in Lysa. She felt both relieved, for she would not be the one who had to shackle herself to a new unknown and guilt at the thought of her sister having to marry someone so soon after her beloved husband had died, for Lysa had had both a longer period of time to mourn and far less love for her husband than dear Cat had had for hers. As she walked her son into the rooms they would share for their stay she thanked the gods her father, or more likely Edmure had had the foresight to ensure she was as far away from the room in which her lost child had died as possible.

Catelyn entered her father’s solar, with her father and her Uncle hot on her heels. Her father’s confusion over what had happened in the Vale was obviously weighing on his mind as he handed the letter to her.

Olenna Tyrell had written to her, _the Queen of Thorns_. It was a relief to know that they had one more ally in this war but the knowledge that she had sold herself off, not even a year after her beloved had been murdered broke her heart. _You are doing this for your children_ was a mantra she had been repeating to herself the entire journey, _family, duty, honour._ She turned to face her father. The door to the solar opened quietly.

“The Tyrells have written to say that they are sending their armies here to help us in our crusade against the Lannister’s” she sniffled, holding back tears.

“What? Why are the Tyrells coming here? Renly Baratheon is dead, what motive do they have for helping us?” Hoster questioned, frowning.

“The Tyrell’s are helping us because they are our allies. Or, they will be when our houses are joined in matrimony” Lysa interjected with a melancholy look on her face. “I have settled Robin into his rooms for now, and he is taking a nap before the evening meal.”

“What do you mean _houses are joined in matrimony?_ What gives you the right to make that overture for us” Hoster demanded angrily. Brynden rises.

“Don’t talk to her –you have no right to talk to her that way” Brynden stumbles on his words. Lysa places her hand gently on his arm and guides him back to his seat.

“It is my right as Robin’s regent to decide these matters for the House of Arryn – or it would be if this alliance included either myself or Robin. As it is, it is only Starks who are promised to the Tyrell’s and I was not the one to make the overture.” Lysa rebutted. She could not help but feel uncomfortable in this room. Lysa wondered if it were here that her father had told Lord Arryn of her disgrace, if it were here that any possibility of love between them was destroyed.

“Catelyn, you have promised your son’s?” Hoster questioned.

“I have promised my son, to Margaery Tyrell. The second marriage is one between myself and Lord Willas” she admitted. The shock on her father’s face would have been comical in any other situation, as it was it only laid bare her desperation, to win this war and save her children.

“The Tyrell’s agreed to marry their heir to someone of your age” her father inquired disbelievingly.

“Do not sound so surprised, father. I birthed Eddard five children, the youngest not four years ago. I am still quite fertile” Catelyn said dryly.

“I did not mean to offend, Cat my dearest. You are of course a wonderful candidate for marriage, and the Lord Willas would be lucky to have you for a wife” Hoster simpered. “Nevertheless, your marriage aside, we must strategize. I have heard from Bannermen that Lord Tywin is assembling his forces and that he has ordered the continued pillaging of the Riverland’s. We must retaliate before all crops are lost.” A knock on the door interrupted his speech. Maester Vyman entered.

“We have received a raven from Winterfell, and a raven from Kings Landing my Lord. They are addressed to Lady Catelyn” he lisped.

“Well then hand them over to her” Lysa snarled. All eyes snapped toward her, Maester Vyman handing over the letter’s with haste. Her anger was misdirected she knew, as it was not Maester Vyman who tricked her, but her Lord Father. Expressing such emotion towards him though would ensure the whole ugly business was brought out into the open and that was not something she wished to occur. “I am sorry Maester, for being short with you. I am more tired from my journey than perhaps I realized. Would you mind looking in on my son after your business here is conducted” she asked with a forced smile on her face. The Maester smiled, saying:

“Of course I would be most happy to look in on Lord Arryn” he turned to Lord Hoster “Unless there is anything else you need me for” he asked.

“If you see Edmure tell him to join us would you” Hoster sniped. He rubbed his face with his hand and waved the Maester out. “I do not know what I am going to do with that boy, we are on the verge of a great war and he is of at a _house of sighing_ "

Catelyn smiled indulgently “He is young father, and this war will cause him to lose his innocence soon enough”. She opened the first letter.

* * *

 Mother,

I have gathered the Northern Lords and we ride for Riverrun. We have amassed a host the number of which is twelve hundred times the amount of lemon cakes Sansa snuck on her eleventh birthday. I will follow the path you advised when last we spoke. I bring with me a many legged monster as well as wind the colour grey.

Ever yours Robb

* * *

 

Catelyn smiled before opening the second letter.

 

* * *

 

Dear Cat,

Your pain grieves me deeply. I look at your daughter and see you. I would love to grant your wish and free your daughters and I shall endeavour to look for any opportunity to do so from within Kings Landing, but Sansa is beloved of King Joffrey. I will do my utmost to see her freed however it may take time. Your best option is to take Kings Landing.

Forever yours

Petyr Baelish, Master of Coin

 

* * *

 

“What does he mean _twelve hundred times the amount of lemon cakes Sansa snuck on her eleventh birthday_ ” Hoster asked confusedly.

“It is code” Brynden stated dryly.

“Sansa loves lemon cakes. She saw a crate of lemons being delivered and on the eve of her eleventh birthday she and her friend Jeyne Poole snuck down to the kitchens – they said they were only planning to have one each – but they were foiled by their own greed and snuck away with fifteen cakes. Assuming my sums are correct Robb is telling us that he has amassed a host of eighteen thousand.” Lysa, who had begun writing out the sum on some parchment poked her head up at that and confirmed it.

“He is also telling us that he is bringing Theon Greyjoy.” Here Brynden and Hoster wore identical expressions of antipathy

“Oh, don’t look like that. Theon is silver-tongued surely but the worst he has ever done is bed the miller’s daughter, Nyla. He is as loyal to Robb as Eddard was to Robert Baratheon” she finished with a wistful smile.

“My son’s code aside, Petyr is right. Our best option is to take Kings Landing and to do that we will need to defeat Tywin. The only way we are doing that is if all our forces unite. I will ride to the Twins and meet Robb there to inform him of the promise I made on his behalf. I owe it to him to tell him that to his face” The unspoken words _I owe it to him to tell him I plan to,_ her body shook, _forsake his father._ There was bitterness twisting in her stomach. _I have sold my son; I have sold myself._ Catelyn’s only relief was that as a boy, _as a man_ , he would not be reliant on anyone’s whims. She allowed herself this moment to pray.

_Mother, may you protect and watch over me and my children. Maiden, please grant me happiness as I take another as my Lord and Husband. Crone, may your wisdom light my path. Smith, please use your tools to create a better life, a better future for my children, for my daughter’s than the one my foolish ambition drove them to. Warrior, bless my son as he fights his first war. Father, please look over my children as they now live without a father, be unto them Eddard would have been. Stranger please guide my husband, my Eddard through the Seven Heavens that he might know I love him truly and faithfully and that when we are together he might forgive my trespasses with another man._

 

* * *

 

 

The sun rose on the Northern Armies camp some thirty leagues from the Twins where they planned to cross to complete their journey to the Riverland’s, and Riverrun. They had passed through Moat Cailin one week before and were currently two days ride south of Greywater Watch. The Twins were the next stop on the route Robb’s mother had counselled and they were only days away from reaching that point. Robb was both anxious to get out of his tent and meet with his Lords, the quicker they moved the quicker he could rescue his sister’s and avenge his father and wary of yet another day of hard travel with men who would be judging his every move to compare with his much beloved father, _was he a true heir to this most cherished Northman. Would he live up to the Stark name_?

 

* * *

 

A cry went up from the front of the Northern forces, they had spotted the Twins. The two castles of the House of Frey, straddling the green fork. The relief at knowing that there was a warm bed, and walls within which to rest for the night was absurd. In the distance Robb could see a small party approaching.

“Probably the Frey’s sending out a welcoming committee, to see if we have any women for Walder to marry” Lord Manderly chuckled. Robb Stark grinned at that for a moment before his smile fell as he thought on why they were near the Twins at all.

The party approached and Robb suddenly recognized one of the Riders. “Mother” he called as murmurs and whisperings of Lady Stark echoed around him. The tide of men split to allow his mother, _his mother_ ’s small group through. In it he recognized Rodrick Cassel who taught him how to use a sword, Tomas Snow who had been his mother’s assigned guard for as long as he could remember, and a few new faces that he assumed came from his grandfather’s castle.

“Oh, Robb” Catelyn rode her horse up to his and embraced him awkwardly for they were both still riding. “Robb, I have some things. There are some things we need to talk about before you receive” here his mother paused, and an odd forced smile graced her face “Lord Walder’s hospitality”. Robb nodded uncertainly before calling for a stop in the march. “I will go find us a place where we can talk privately.” Robb’s eyes flicked toward Lord Manderly.

“I will be most honoured to converse with Lady Stark” Lord Manderly added helpfully. He rode away as Lord Manderly, his mother and her companions climbed off of their horses.

Robb and Catelyn Stark were seated at a table in a small tent.

“Mother it is good to see you, but what is so important that you had to tell me here.” Robb probed. Catelyn took a deep breath.

“We need allies, Robb. We have the Riverland’s and the Vale but alone against Lord Tywin and Cersei? Especially if the Tyrells throw their support behind the Westerlands”. Here Robb interrupted.

“I thought the Tyrells had allied with Renly?” he queried.

“They did, Renly died. It was either a demon ghost sent by Stannis or one of Renly’s Rainbow Guard” Catelyn scoffed. _Rainbow Guard, what that boy was thinking._ “The Tyrells, I sent out a missive suggesting an alliance. They agreed on the condition that we cement this coalition with marriage. With wedding’s I suggested.”

Robb suddenly felt wary, the way his mother was talking. “Who did you settle on for this _marriage pact_ , Mother?” he demanded.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get a glimpse of what is happening in the capital

Catelyn was silent. Looking at her son her sense of guilt began to grow but she squashed it down. “I made an agreement that you would marry Margaery Tyrell” she stuttered. Catelyn squeezed her eyes shut and then continued “and that I would marry Willas Tyrell” she mumbled.

“Pardon, what. Mother, my father is not even buried and you are already betrothed to another” Robb exploded. Betrayal writ clearly across his face.

“Do not look at me like that Robb. Alliance’s must be made and like it or not marriage is the most reliable way to bridge gaps between kingdoms. I do not like it any more than you do. I love your father and I always will, but I love you and your siblings more and in order to win the war and rescue them sacrifices must be made” she snarled.

“Mother” Robb said softly. Catelyn shuddered and took a deep breath.

“I am sorry Robb. I am truly sorry. This is not how I wanted any of this to go.”

“So I am to marry Margaery Tyrell. Why you though, why did you have to be the one promised to Lord Willas?” Robb asked forlornly.

“Because your sisters are both hostages. Had I died in place of your father a betrothal would probably have been made between Sansa and Willas. Robb, I looked at all the options and the only way to ensure that the Tyrell’s did not ally with the Lannister’s and marry Margaery to Joffrey was to offer not only a match for her but for Willas as well.” Catelyn elucidated.

 

* * *

 

Lord Walder Frey sat surrounded by his many offspring, staring at Catelyn and Robb as they entered. He gestured for them to sit down. “Lady Catelyn” Lord Walder croaked with a smarmy smile on his face. “Welcome to my humble halls”.

“Thank-you for the welcome My Lord and for your offering of bread and salt” Catelyn replied with a distinctly uncomfortable expression on her face. They sat down and faced him, making awkward small talk until finally Robb burst out.

“Lord Walder, I am here to ask if we can use your bridge to pass the green fork. I assume you have received a letter from my grandsire asking for your help with the current Lannister attack on the Riverland’s”. Lord Walder’s smile dropped. One of the men behind him, who shared the weasel face of the current Lord of the Crossing, stepped forward.

“Have some resp-” Lord Walder’s hand flew up and stopped his son, or grandson in their tracks.

“You wish to pass the green fork, aye” Lord Walder spluttered. “Let us come to an agreement. Passage across my bridge is not free.”

“What would you want as payment for traveling over your bridge” Robb ground out.

“I have more children and grandchildren than any other man in the seven kingdoms” Walder sneered. “Marry one of my daughters and you can have crossing”.

Catelyn immediately interjected. “You are one of my father’s Bannermen; surely you have received instruction to let us pass.”

“Your father sent word that the Northern Army would be passing through however your father does not control the passing. I do, and all who wish to use the bridge must pay the toll” he replied. Catelyn pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing.

“That is all well and good but we cannot pledge my eldest son’s hand as he is already betrothed. We would be open to a betrothal between my youngest Rickon and your granddaughter Walda, daughter of Edwyn” she opened up the negotiations. Lord Walder chuckled.

“Heiress to the Twins, You do aim highly my Lady. Walda and your Rickon. Heh. You say you’ve already pledged your son; you’ll have to break that if you want any of my knights. Take two of my sons as squires for your son and two of my other granddaughters as ladies maids for yourself. Also you’ll need some pages; three grandsons of mine would do nicely for that. There are also more rivers around here than those made of water take some bastards to serve in the kitchens or wherever. Finally that brother of yours he’ll be needing a wife heh, pick any of my girls, their dowry will be their weight in silver.” He smiled, sure that they would have no other option but to acquiesce.

“We will not break any oaths. I am happy to take your children and grandchildren as squires, pages and servants. I cannot however offer my son or my brother’s hand.” Catelyn replied coldly.

“Well, then we seem to have reached an impasse. You can’t cross the fork without those marriages” Walder’s smile was cold and calculating.

Catelyn abruptly stood saying “We have much to think over, excuse us my Lord” before leading the Robb and the rest of the Northern contingent out of the Twins.

The northern lords congregated around a table two leagues away from the Twins. The various Lords were currently loudly agreeing with each other about how distasteful they found the old Lord Frey.

“Enough” Catelyn interrupted by slamming her hand down on the table. “We all agree that he is an odious toad.” She shared a brief look with her son before continuing “His demands however cannot be met, even we wanted too. I have promised Robb’s hand and my own to the Tyrells in exchange for their military support”. The astonishment around the table was tangible.

“Your hand, my Lady” Lord Umber questioned.

“Yes my hand. It is the ideal situation or anywhere near the ideal situation, but in order to ensure the Tyrell’s did not ally with the Lannister’s we needed to offer a better deal than Lord Tywin, which meant a match for the heir to Highgarden as well as for Margaery. I share your distaste with the speed but we need their arms and their supplies if we are going to survive this war and the oncoming winter” she stressed.

“Oncoming winter? I wasn’t aware the Citadel had sent out notice that the summer was coming to an end” the question came from Roose Bolton, who spoke so quietly you could hardly understand him. Robb didn’t know whether this was a power play or if that creepy way of talking was his natural cadence.

Catelyn shifted slightly. “This summer has been going on for ten years, it is not a giant leap to assume that it will end soon and I do not know how long this war will last.” She turned away from the Lord of the Dreadfort. “In order to secure the support of the Reach I will marry Willas Tyrell and Robb will marry Margaery Tyrell”

“And how does our young Lord Paramount feel about this?” Roose Bolton whispered; turning the attention off of her and onto Robb. He sat up straighter as all the eyes turned towards him.

There was a small amount of heat in Robb’s voice as he answered “I have always known that my marriage was unlikely to be for love, and I have heard that the Lady Margaery is beautiful. She is also necessary for an alliance. As to my mother, I am not thrilled as I am sure none of you would be in my position but both my sisters are kept hostages in Kings Landing and our family does not have any other women of childbearing years”. This seemed to be the end of the discussion as the talk turned to how get to Riverrun the quickest without crossing the Twins. It was eventually decided that they would cross back and come around Greywater watch, down past Seagard and Hags Mire to Riverrun.

 

* * *

 

Riverrun was her childhood home no matter the horrors that had befallen her here and so it warmed her heart when she saw her sun playing in the same waters she had, climbing in the same places she and Cat had once had so many adventures. The same places she and Cat and _Petyr_ had once had so many adventures. The man whom she had loved so, still choosing Catelyn after everything they had been through. Lysa had thought, _had hoped_ , that Jon Arryn’s death would bring them together, would ensure that she and Petyr would finally be together. That was folly, though Lysa reflected bitterly, Eddard’s death meaning Cat was once again available and she was once again pushed aside. It was hard to be too jealous of Catelyn given that for once she was in the better position. _No husband, no man will ever be able to tell me what to do, no man will control my life ever again._

“Mother, Mother come look” Robin called as he leapt into the river and made a giant splash. She smiled as she saw him scramble out of the water, dripping wet as he laughed. God, how long has it been since he had laughed like that. She would gladly stay in Riverrun; gladly stay anywhere just to hear her son laugh. He had been so agitated on their arrival, how much of that had been him picking up on her feelings and how much of that had been because of the new Maesters instructions to cease breastfeeding she didn’t know. To be honest though it was a slight relief to Lysa that she no longer had to feed her son with her teats.

 There was a sudden trumpeting from the walls of Riverrun so she left her son in the capable hands of Septa Vaelle and the other children and headed inside. As she walked towards the great hall people were rushing around her. She arrived just as a procession of people bearing a flag with a golden rose on a background of verdant green. The Tyrell’s had arrived. The assembly was headed by an old veiled woman whose lips were pursed followed by a young woman and middle aged man with a cane. Her brother gestured her over before he started speaking.

“My Ladies, my Lord’s welcome to Riverrun. I am Lord Edmure Tully. I hope your journey was pleasant” he greeted. Edmure turned to introduce his sister.

“It was as pleasant as any journey through a war torn kingdom can be” the Queen of Thorns responded, living up to her reputation.

“Grandmother” the young woman reprimanded.

“This is my granddaughter Margaery and my grandson Willas” Olenna Tyrell presented waving her hand at her grandchildren.

“We had a very pleasant journey, my Lord. It is a relief though to set eyes on the beautiful walls of Riverrun” Margaery’s eyes dropped as she curtseyed for Lord Edmure. Lysa rolled her eyes as she saw her brother swoon slightly.

“Since my brother looks like he has forgotten me, I will introduce myself. I am Lady Arryn” Lysa snarked.

“My Lady” Willas Tyrell stepped forward to kiss her hand.

 

* * *

 

Catelyn and Robb rode at the head of the host traveling to Riverrun. There had been discontented grumbling from the men when they round out the Frey’s were blocking the route but once Robb argued that _Northman do not bow to blackmail_ , the men had quieted. Catelyn was still uncomfortable with the constant attention she seemed to have gained from the Lord of the Dreadfort, whose eyes seemed to follow here wherever she went. The guilt from her decision to marry again had come back in full force once she told Robb’s Lords, and wasn’t that a strange thought _Robb’s lords, Robb’s Bannermen_ , about the agreement she had made. The party was only a few days’ ride from Riverrun and had swollen by another three thousand soldier they had picked up when they stopped at Seagard, the reception from House Mallister being thankfully much warmer than the one from House Frey. House Frey, Catelyn was unsure of how to deal with them, grateful that this at least was not her responsibility. After the war though, _if we survive this war_ , perhaps it would be time for House Frey to make a contribution to the Night’s Watch.

Petyr moved around the back of the throne room, weaving in amongst Lords and Ladies to make his way to the front. He spied Lady Sansa, the very image of her mother kneeling before Joffrey. Petyr took a shallow breath, the sight of _Catel-_ no, Sansa. You must remember that. The sight of the Sansa, naked from the waist up, hair wild and free around her was at once both angering and erotic. Only his firm control of himself kept Petyr quiet when the boy king ordered the kingsguard to beat Sansa.

“What is the meaning of this” Tyrion Lannister’s voice cut through the sounds of metal hitting flesh, as the owner of the voice made his way through, people parting in a way they would never do for him. Even the despised and disfigured Tyrion Lannister commanding more respect, more deference than him. All because his father was not rich or powerful, did not come with an old name. He was not a _Stark of Winterfell, a Tully of Riverrun, and a Tyrell of Highgarden_. Never mind that both the Tully’s and the Tyrells were once minor families whose only claims on their titles of Lord Paramount were that they bent the knee to the right conqueror.

He saw as the Hound covered Sansa, as Tyrion schooled the king. He thought back to Catelyn’s letter. His beloved Catelyn, unmarried now, free of the betrothal that once blocked their love. Brandon Stark was dead, Eddard Stark was dead and now they could finally be together. He could have the woman he loved. _Catelyn._

After Tyrion dispersed the court Petyr went back to his rooms to gather some papers for the Small Council meeting. While he was there he spied the letter he had received from Lysa. _If you could also send some silks from Lys, I would hate to be left in tears_ – He had been furious when he first received the letter. How dare she threaten him, after all he had done for her. He helped her rid herself of Jon Arryn, at great personal risk. It was a stupid threat too; in order to take him down she would out herself as a murderess, risking her _cherished_ son’s future. She would never do it; still it would probably be wise to remove that risk from play.

 

* * *

 

“Ah, Lord Baelish. I was beginning to wonder if you had fallen in the privy” Tyrion Lannister snarked. The rest of the small council wearing forced smiles as he sat down.

“Never fear, my lord. I shall make sure that should I suffer a... _privy accident_ to make enough noise so that my guards rescue me” Petyr responded.

“How generous my Lord. Now then Lord Varys what news have your little birds got for us today” Tyrion asked diverting the conversation.

“Daenerys Targaryen’s husband the Khal has passed on the Dothraki Sea. She is said to have birthed three baby dragons and is currently heading east with the remnants of his Khalasar” Varys tittered as he finished speaking.

“East to where” Tyrion asked with a frustrated look on his face.

“They are said to have disappeared across the Red Waste my Lord. Assuming they survive it, I imagine Qarth or perhaps the shadow lands and Asshai. She however is not the biggest danger to our King” Varys reported. “The Tyrells are said to have regrouped their army. They have been spotted marching North West to Riverrun. My little birds have indicated there is a potential alliance between them and the Northerner/Riverlander coalition. Stannis is the priority though as he is said to be about to sail for Dragonstone” he finished.

“A Tyrell/Stark alliance is worrying but we still have Sansa Stark as a hostage. I have started preparing a boom chain among other things to hold Kings Landing; at least until my father can get here to relieve us. What information do you have about the alliance” Tyrion quizzed Varys.

“There has been talking of another wartime marriage at Riverrun, this time between Robb Stark and Margaery Tyrell” he countered. Tyrion frowned then.

“The Tyrells would choose being Lady of Winterfell over marrying Joffrey and making Margaery Tyrell Queen of the Realm? That makes no sense” The frustration that poured of Tyrion was visible to everyone in the room.

“Perhaps the Tyrell’s have heard about Joffrey’s treatment of the Stark girl” Petyr suggested with an odd smile on his face.

“Even so, the Tyrell’s allied with Renly against both Stannis and Joffrey, why have they suddenly decided to abandon their quest of seating a half-Tyrell king on the throne.” Tyrion wondered aloud.

“Because my Lord. The marriage between Robb and Margaery is not the only thing the Tyrells would get out of this alliance” Varys said. Petyr refilled his cup of dornish red before offering the wine to the other members of the council.

“Oh?” Tyrion prompted when it looked like the Master of Whispers had fallen silent.

“They also have a marriage for their Heir Lord Willas.” Varys replied with a knowing smile on his face.

“Are you going to make us drag this out of you?” Tyrion grumped. “Who are they marrying to their heir?”

“Why, the late Lord Eddard’s Widow Lady Catelyn Tully.” Varys replied, tittering slightly at the looks of shock on the faces around him. Petyr’s cup slipped out of his hand, dornish red wine spilling over the table. Everyone jumped back while Petyr remained still.

“My apologies, I have just remembered that I must follow up on one of my tax collectors. Excuse me” Petyr stood then left the room with trembling hands.

 

* * *

 

Catelyn watched from beside her son as the Northern host descended on her childhood home. Riverrun which was surrounded by a camp the size of a city with banners from the Reach, the Vale, the Riverland’s and now the North flying in the wind. This was it; she was riding to a new life, a new marriage. Catelyn turned her head toward her son and saw the determination on his face, the only thing giving away how nervous he was, was how tightly he was holding the reigns of his horse. A trumpet sounded as the encampment noticed their arrival and she could see in the distance people rapidly moving. There was space the width of the kingsroad between them and the main gate, and they rode through with her and Robb leading the host. As they made their way through the gate Catelyn noticed that Riverrun was flying not only the trout, but the Stark wolf, the Arryn falcon and moon but also the golden rose of the Tyrells. This, of all things was what made the marriage she was about to commit to real.

Waiting outside the halls of Riverrun was her brother and sister along with a young lady wearing a dress with a green skirt overlaid with silver lace, the bodice a green silk with golden vines embroidered. She was lovely to look upon, in the first flush of youth, slender yet shapely, with adequate birthing hips. Next to her stood a woman of many years who, if Catelyn was correct and the youth was Margaery Tyrell, her soon to be goodsister and gooddaughter must be the famed Queen of Thorns. This left her to wonder where her betrothed was, as he was not with his sister.

Her brother stepped forward to help her off her horse as Robb swung his legs off in one clean swoop.

“Sister” Edmure Tully hailed. Catelyn smiled at her brother before sharing a nod with her sister, Lysa.

“Edmure, Lysa, this is my son Lord Robb Stark. You have met Ser Rodrick and Tomas, might I introduce you to Lord Wyman Manderly, Lord of White Harbour, Warden of the White Knife and Lord Rickard Karstark, Lord of the Karhold” Catelyn introduced, gesturing to her companions. Edmure grinned and turned to his companions before he was interrupted by Lysa, who stepped forward.

“Sister, it is good to see you have fared well on your travels” Lysa murmured before advancing to kiss her sisters cheek. Lysa smiled at her before returning to her place beside Edmure and motioning for him to continue the introductions. Edmure turned and smiled somewhat stiffly and Lysa before resuming speaking.

“Catelyn, may I present Lady Margaery Tyrell and her grandmother Lady Olenna Redwyne of the Reach” he finished with a beaming smile on his face. The fact that Catelyn knew her son’s face as well as her own was the only reason she was able to detect the relief that flitted across his face, no doubt at the knowledge that his future wife was pretty as the rose her house was known for. Margaery Tyrell smiled then dipped into a perfect curtsey.

“My Lord, My Lady. It is a pleasure to meet you both. I must apologize for my brother, Lord Willas’ absence.” Her eyes flitted towards her grandmother for a second whose mouth pursed for seconds. “He is most studious” she continued “and the library at Riverrun offers such diversions” she concluded with a sweet smile and a lilt in her voice. Catelyn returned her smile, while internally doubts began to stir, she knew full well that the library of Riverrun, while large was probably not as extensive as the one at Highgarden, let alone at Oldtown where he had fostered, but she knew that it would not be prudent to appear distrustful at this early stage, when the Tyrells could still renege on their agreement in order to align themselves with the Lannister’s, which while it might not guarantee failure for them, would be an almost impossible to come back from setback.

“If Lord Willas is interested in books, mayhaps he would consider travelling north after our wedding. Winterfell is the home of many books written that have no copy” she suggested blandly. Catelyn hoped that Olenna and Margaery would pass on her suggestion, hoped that Willas was a studious as they said he was, for she could not bear to think of missing her eldest son’s wedding and yet if her new husband wished it she would be forced to do so. Such was the life of women of her standing.

“I am sure my brother would be most enthusiastic about the opportunity to immerse himself in undiscovered tomes” Margaery replied quickly, which provided a small measure of reassurance to Catelyn.

* * *

 

Olenna Tyrell, holding the arm of one or her guardsmen either Erryk or Arryk – she could never remember; hobbled into the solar that had been assigned to her grandson Willas alongside her granddaughter.

“So, Margaery’s betrothed seems sturdy enough. Strong, has his mother’s looks.” Olenna croaked as she took a seat. “They seemed disappointed not to see you there” She held up her hand when it became clear that Willas intended to interrupt her “No, you don’t need to explain. I quite understand what it is to be pained by joints, although not at your age. We were able to deflect by claiming you had become enamoured of the library here”

“And what of my betrothed” Willas queried tightly when it became clear that Olenna had finished.

“Older than I would have hoped for you, but not unpleasant to look upon. I am thankful that it is the Stark widow that we have promised you to as opposed to the Arryn widow, barren and fat and weak-chinned. Your wife will give you children and even if she doesn’t the Tyrells are hardly lacking in heirs.” Olenna paused, to weigh her words “She did seem particularly interested in showing you the library at Winterfell” Olenna snorted, then waited for Willas grin at the thought of new knowledge to fade away before restarting “You might have to get yourself accustomed to the idea of at least one of your children being born in the North, of living in your sisters castle rather than her in yours”

Margaery spluttered at the implication “I would never be uncourteous or unwelcoming to Willas.” She turned to her brother “You are welcome to stay with us as long as you want.” She shot her grandmother a withering look “Even if I were against it, I anticipate it would be impossible to convince Lord Stark to expel his mother.

Olenna smirked at her granddaughter as she continued as though there had been no interruption. “I imagine even when you return to the reach she will want to take her youngest with you”.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wedding occurs.

 

Willas sighed, clearing up his desk, the draft of a letter to Prince Doran asking after wheelchair designs being pushed to the side. He hoped he would get it sent before he left Riverrun again, hoped that Prince Doran would reply. It was going to be his gift, if all went well to his new wife. A way for her son to regain some independence and mobility

Willas was glad his sister had claimed it was his scholarly vice that precluded him from meeting his betrothed as opposed to the truth, his leg was paining him enough he would need a wheelchair, something he did not wish to be seen in when he first met his betrothed, knowing how most people viewed his disability. Although he did have some small amount of hope, given what he had heard about her second son... Willas thought on what his grandmother had said about his future wife and her other children. He would not mind, he didn’t think if she brought her other children to live in Highgarden. He could well afford to clothe and feed them, the youngest could be squired off somewhere later on and he would give any and all children he had as many siblings as possible, even if he did not father them. It was not as if she was bringing bastards into his home, not that he had anything against bastards, Ellaria Sand had certainly persuaded him as to their _merits_. Gods he wished his family would get over their dislike of the Martell Prince, especially since he, the injured party had received apologies in the form of horses and kisses enough for a broken spine, let alone one bad leg. Although Willas supposed he would have to say goodbye to any thoughts of Oberyn and Ellaria visiting him at Highgarden now, he could probably visit them in Dorne under the guise of diplomacy, _and it was diplomacy of a kind_ he thought with a giggle. People rarely wanted to visit Sunspear if they did not have too, especially people who fought on the other side of that thrice damned war. Willas reached for his cane and stood up, just as his sister poked her head around the door.

“It is time for supper now Willas darling, time to meet your betrothed” she cajoled with a smile on her face that brought him back to childhood, when he was playing the knightly older brother come to save her from the savage Dornish.

 

* * *

 

Catelyn sat on the dais, with her son on her left and an empty chair on her right. Robb and Margaery were whispering together, the whisper’s being interspersed with the occasional giggle. She was glad they seemed to be getting along, better than her and Ned had when they first met. There was a little worry when they first started talking; her son was shy, unused to talking to Ladies who were not his sister, but Margaery had soon opened him up.

The side door to the great hall opened and she saw a man of middling year, wearing the rose of Highgarden enter, while holding a cane.

“Willas” Lady Margaery sprang up.

_So,_ Catelyn thought, _this is my future husband. Handsome enough, more handsome than my Ned certainly, tall with a good head of hair. He hasn’t gone to fat either, which speaks well of him considering his mobility issues._

Lord Willas walked towards them, leaning on his cane slightly as he did so, pausing before he reached her in front of his grandmother. Margaery had yet to sit down and now used that to loudly beckon Lord Willas toward them.

“Willas, come let me present my betrothed Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell and your betrothed, Lady Catelyn…” Margaery drifted of then, not knowing whether to introduce her as Lady Tully or Lady Stark. Catelyn smiled at her future gooddaughter then, and finished her sentence.

“Lady Catelyn Tully, my Lord. A pleasure to meet you at last” Catelyn clarified. She felt her son tense beside her for a second before her attention fell back onto Lord Willas.

“Lady Catelyn, I assure you the pleasure is all mine. May I sit beside you for this feast” he asked cautiously, with deference to her wishes.

“Of course my Lord, we have much to discuss after all” Catelyn reassured him. “Our wedding for one thing”.

 

* * *

 

Lady Catelyn met her father in his solar, accompanied by her sister and brother.

“My Lord, you wished to see us” Catelyn inquired.

“Yes, sit, sit. We have much planning to do and little time to do it in. Your Northerners certainly took your time arriving” he finished, the last half of his sentence muttered under his breath. Catelyn straightened up her spine at the soft rebuke.

“We took our time, as you say because we had to go back around the heads of the forks, because Lord Frey would not let us past without a marriage between Robb and one of his daughters” she admonished. Her father looking slightly abashed at that.

“Nevertheless, it means that your wedding will have to happen soon, by the next day of the father soon. Which is only four days away, my dear” Hoster looked sorrowful at that continuing “It seems that you are destined to marry under the threat of war. I am sorry”

“No matter, I am hardly a blushing maiden dreaming of a knightly prince, or a princely knight. We shall save the extravagant wedding for my son and the Lady Margaery, for Winterfell, once this war is over.” She fell silent, thinking on what would be needed. _A cloak to wear, with either the trout of House Tully or the Stark Wolf. A feast will also need to be organized and I will have to see if the Tyrells have a cloak for Willas to place around my shoulders._ Her train of thought was interrupted by her sister.

“I have taken the liberty of making your _maiden’s_ cloak” her sister said, with a smirk on her face at the word maiden. “It is a quartered trout and wolf, as you represent two great houses”.

“I – thankyou. That is a great relief.” She turned to her brother “Edmure, could I impose on you to organise a feast for after the wedding? I will speak to the Tyrells and Septon Balter about the ceremony. Father, I would leave you with the most arduous task, and ask that you begin planning a war strategy. I would suggest we arrange a council with the Reachmen, your Bannermen, and the houses sworn to Robb” she concluded.

“Of course, my dear” her father agreed, with a proud smile.

 

* * *

 

Olenna Tyrell sat in the godswood of Riverrun, with her granddaughter, and her granddaughter’s ladies, working on the Tyrell cloak that Willas would drape around the Lady Fish in just over a days’ time. It was cooler than she would like, and the queer northern faces made her guards uneasy and tense, but this was the closet she good get to a private garden, surrounded as they were by troops, _men, who would leave behind them filth no doubt._ Although she was glad to say that Margaery and Alla, child though she may be, were not as foolishly superstitious as those fools her son had assigned her. _Really,_ she thought to herself, _afraid of trees; with all the horrors men have dreamt up, trees are what frighten you. Although,_ she did have to concede, _it was a brilliant propaganda tool for the North._

“You are lucky dear girl, your future husband seems to have enough wits about him; or at least he has a better head for strategy than his dead father did” Olenna croaked, watching a smile play its way across Margaery’s face.

“So, the council went well then, I take it” her granddaughter asked, stilling her fingers.

“Aye, he seems to have a good understanding off Lord Tywin’s battle strategies and a clear goal in mind. He will not be the best battle commander Westeros has ever seen, but he takes advice well and listens to his generals and his mother” _Which is more than I can say for my oaf of a son. Perhaps she beat him more than I did Mace,_ Olenna thought with a slight bitterness.

 

 

* * *

 

Catelyn’s decision to walk up the aisle of the Sept alone had been met with confusion from her father and son, but support had come in the form of her sister who had vehemently defended her decision with all power of the Lady of the Vale. Her hands had shaken as she laid her cloak of red, blue, grey and white around her shoulders before stepping out of her childhood rooms to walk to a new husband and future for the second time. Her stomach filled with guilt instead of nerves.

 

* * *

 

As Willas stood at the alter to the father in front of Septon Balter with his brother Loras he watched his betrothed walk towards him. She was comely, her hair lovely and thick; with pretty eyes the shade of azure. Her mouth had crinkles which was, to him a good sign as it showed she smiled; or had in the past which gave him hope that she would again although perhaps not for some time. He was not naïve; he understood that until her children were safe she would not; could not be content. _I only hope she lends that same fierce protection to any children we create together,_ he thought to himself _Mother Wolf indeed_.

 

* * *

 

Edmure was thoroughly exhausted; he had been seeing Lords and Ladies settled for days, Lords coming to pledge their support and bringing their sisters and daughters hoping that they might catch his eye; or his father’s eye. His sister’s wedding feast was only halfway done and he was already searching for an out. Having danced with what felt like half the women of the Realm he settled himself beside his uncle; with a cup of Arbor gold. _Thankfully, though the Tyrells brought enough wine, gold and red to fill the all the rivers of the Riverland’s._ Brynden snorted beside him.

“You look as exhausted as I did after the War for the Stepstones, are these dances to active for you my boy” Brynden japed grinning at him. Edmure sighed, shaking his head.

“Sometimes I envy you, no one is trying to marry you off to anyone” he grumbled to Brynden with a wry smile.

“Ah, but I am old and without any children save those of my brother” his Uncle intoned. Edmure smiled briefly, grateful at least that he did not show any inclination to arrange a marriage for him. He sat quietly with his uncle, glancing around the room when he caught his father’s eye. Hoster started, with all the subtlety of a bull let loose at the market, making gestures for him to get up rejoin the celebrations.

“My peace seems to have ended. I’ll be off then, must look my best for the fisherman” he finished with a wink.

Edmure loitered around the high table making intermittent small talk with his good brother for as long as he could, before re-joining the dancing. As the musicians started a new song he found himself face to face with a lady in teal. She curtseyed and offered her hand; his courtesies kicking in at the last moment.

“Forgive me, my Lady; I was stunned by your beauty” he spoke; then smiled in a manner he hoped was charming and not leering.

“There is nothing to forgive my Lord” she replied eyes glittering with mirth.

“Still, I must insist on a dance, to apologize Lady…” he trailed off, hoping she would name herself.

“Lady Rhialta, Rhialta Vance of Wayfarer’s Rest. I need not ask who you are... Red hair and a blue robe, you must be a Tully. Edmure Tully if my guess is correct, heir to all that surround us” she finished with an almost dangerous smile.

 

* * *

 

Catelyn joined her father in a dance.

“How are you enjoying the feast, my dear?” Hoster asked as he twirled her around, the Tyrell cloak of green velvet and golden thread shimmering in the candle light.

“Well, although not as well as Edmure” she smiled, nodding towards her brother who seemed deep in conversation with a pale girl with butter yellow hair. Her father turned and nodded almost approvingly at his heir.

“A Vance of Wayfarers rest. He could do quite a bit worse for the next Lady of Riverrun” Hoster decreed quietly to his daughter.

“Lady of Riverrun?” Catelyn questioned dryly. “The only met today; don’t you think that is a little hasty?”

“And it is not hasty for you to marry someone you have known for less than a full score of seven days” Hoster re-joined quickly.

“Aye, but that is a different situation” Catelyn contended.

“It is. Edmure does not need to marry with the same haste you did to secure an army, but that does not mean he has any large amount of time. I am an old man, and not with great health. Family, Duty, Honour after all. The Tully line must continue” he finished.

“Family, Duty, Honour” Catelyn repeated with a trace of doubt in her voice, her eyes gliding over to where her sister the Lady of the Vale of Arryn sat with her son.

 

* * *

 

The harpist had just taken up another tune when she was interrupted by the call of _Bedding_ , emanating from the Reach lord’s but soon being taken up by the rest of the guests. Catelyn closed her eyes and resigned herself to temporary embarrassment, comforted in small part by the fact that the sheer amount of wine provided by the Tyrell’s ensured that most people would have only a hazy memory of the proceedings.

She felt rather than saw the first man who took it upon himself to begin the bedding ceremony, grabbing the laces of her dress, when there was a growl. Catelyn looked down with a smile to see grey wind glaring at the man, a Knight if she recalled correctly, Ser Albert Roux. She rested her hand on the snout of her son’s wolf for a moment before leading him out of the room and towards her chambers.

It was a much rowdier procession that was escorting Willas then the one escorting her. Where she had a wolf for company he was in the process of being stripped by what looked like a pack of hounds destroying their prey. She could see the striking green hair of Wylla Manderly, among the golds and browns that made up the horde of ladies undressing her new husband. Walking, as she was, she paused to watch Willas be deposited in her room. Catelyn took a moment then to take a deep breath and offer a prayer of apology to Eddard, but also one of thanks to the seven for this opportunity while heartbreaking could _save her daughters._

She smiled slightly looking at her husband; despite the rumours of his disability it would not be a hardship to consummate the marriage, looking at him again told her that he shared her opinion about the difficulty of the consummation.

* * *

 

Catelyn laid on her back, her breath slowly returning to her. The echoes of the party that had listened at the door to hear the consummation had died away at some point, though she had been too distracted to make note of it. Her hair was sticking to her head and her throat was dry as she rose to pour herself a cup of lemon water.

“My Lord would you like a drink?” she asked, turning her head to view Willas, who had not moved. His eyes opened blearily, a smile fluttering across his lips.

“I would like something” he flirted, while she quenched her thirst. The urge to roll her eyes was too strong to resist. As she turned to place her cup back on the desk she heard muffled laughter. Catelyn retrieved a night robe from her wardrobe and wrapped herself up in it before going to sit on the bed. Looking upon her husband, she considered his features. He had lovely hair, soft and wavy, the colour of fresh cut oak wood, and several shades lighter than Lady Margaery’s tresses. He had muddy green eyes, something she hoped would be passed on to any children they shared. His face had the typical Tyrell beauty, high cheekbones and lovely jaw line. She was shaken out of her musings when he laughed, presumably because she had caught him staring.

“In all seriousness, though, husband. Robb and majority of the northern host are marching tomorrow morn, as well as a goodly portion of the Reach’s forces. I have heard that you plan on joining the campaign?” she inquired. Willas’ smile dropped slightly as he pushed himself up into a sitting position.

“Wife” and Catelyn saw goose bumps rising on his arms as he called her that, something that made her stomach clench, _this man, and this husband of mine could love me_. “I cannot fight on foot, and on horseback I am only slightly less useless” he put his finger on her mouth, Catelyn guessed because he could tell she was about to interrupt “I am useless as a fighter, but I have some small strategic ability and my presence will boost the morale. It is hard to fight for a lord who hides away in his castle.” _She was comforted for the first time that this man was to be her second husband, this man who would, better than most understand her second son, her first son born of love. He could show Brandon that there would be hope that his life was not over because he could not walk._

* * *

 

Margaery stood on the side of the green fork waiting for her betrothed. She had asked him to meet her privately, hoping that she could make the send-off memorable, to keep herself fresh in the Lord’s mind as he went off to war. She did not want to repeat history and be joined in the beginning of her marriage by a bastard, though she would be graceful and charming should that happen. She thought back to how angry she had been when her grandmother had told her of the match.

_“I would have been a queen and you want to make me lady of a desolate wasteland!”_

_“Hush, child. You would never have been queen” Lady Olenna had snapped. “I said so from the beginning it was a fool’s errand to try to make Renly king. He was greedy, already a Lord Paramount but that was not good enough. My dear, the North is cold yes, and harsh but it is large, with land for second and third sons. It has potential that is going unused, and being the Lady Wife of a Lord Paramount with the ancestry of the Starks is no small thing. You know there are still those who say we are up-jumped castellans? This brings us legitimacy. Also what are your other options? The bastard of the Kingslayer?  A malformed dwarf? The floppy fish? A ten year old who from all reports is still breastfed? You could do much worse. Get your head out of your arse girlie!”_

She almost laughed thinking back on it. Her grandmother was always skilled in getting her way, and when her way was marriage to the Starks and Tully’s well then that was what the Tyrells would do.

“My Lady” Margaery smiled as she turned her head to see her betrothed riding toward her on his northern stallion, bred by the Dustins of Barrowton if she remembered their talk from the wedding correctly.

“My Lord” she replied with a shallow curtsey. Robb was carrying what looked like a bunch of pink river flowers. He thrust the flowers toward her with an awkward smile.

“I thought you might like these. I know your sigil is roses but I thought mayhaps you’d like a change. I can get roses if you would prefer though” he betrothed petered out, blushing, and lifting his hand to scratch the back of his neck. Margaery felt relief shuddering through her then _he likes me, I will have no difficulty capturing his heart_ she thought to herself with relief. She smiled what she hoped was a reassuring smile, taking the flowers and bringing them to her nose. There was a faint scent, like someone had watered down the fragrance of white roses.

“They look beautiful. I shall treasure them during our separation” she cooed. For a second she wondered if she had laid it on too thick. If he would take her attempts to attract him as attempted ensnarement, but he just blushed and his eyes dropped to his feet for a moment before rising again to meet hers. _He did have beautiful eyes_ , she thought. _I will not be challenging to act the besotted love fool._

“I have to leave now, I just wanted to give you those and say goodbye.” His blush returned and he seemed to be toying with an idea in his head before he stepped forward and kissed her. It was a quick kiss, enthusiastic but unskilled. Quite like the kisses she had shared not two years previously with her brother’s footman, Richard Travert, and anyway _I have time to train him, given the right instruction he could be quite the skilled lover, after all if you do not have any enthusiasm even the best techniques will fail. That was why,_ she thought, _the courtesans of Braavos were more famed than the most skilled of the bedslaves of Yunkai._

 

* * *

 

Edmure had been arranging his saddlebags for his upcoming departure of Riverrun when one of his father’s serving boys, Miles – if her remembered correctly, informed him that Lord Hoster had requested his presence in his solar post-haste.

He arrived to find a closed door, knocking on it gently. There was a muffled noise before he heard his father speak.

“Come in, don’t dally” Lord Hoster snapped. Edmure tensed when he heard his father’s voice and had to will himself to relax. Sometimes he wondered why Lady Olenna had a reputation for a vinegary tongue and his father did not.

“Sit down, son. We need to talk about your sister’s wedding” he grunted. His father’s ill health more obvious than ever.

“Cat’s wedding? I thought it went quite well” Edmure offered, not quite understanding his father’s point. If there was a hidden meaning in the question he had missed it.

“Yes, yes. Your sister did well; a marriage linking us to the Tyrells is no small thing. My grandsons will rule three of the nine regions of Westeros. I was talking about your behaviour” he grumbled.

“My behaviour” He questioned his father with a frown on his face. Edmure was confused; he had performed with all the class required of Tully of Riverrun, had only drunk watered wine.

“Yes, your behaviour. I noticed you spent a great deal of time with the Lady Rhialta.” Lord Hoster stated.

“I did, Lady Rhialta was quite the diverting conversationalist” he countered.

“Relax, you are not in trouble – for once in your life” the end of Lord Hoster’s sentence, muttered under his breath.

“It is well past time for you to take a lady to wife, and to produce some heirs for our house. Your sisters second wedding is proof enough of that. The Lady Rhialta, is daughter to one of our most powerful Bannermen, and seems to be not unpleasant to look upon.” He finished

“You are suggesting I marry the Lady, we only met yesterday” Edmure sputtered.

“Yes, your sister knew both her husbands for less than a week before marriage and did well enough” Lord Hoster responded.

“Yes it worked well for _Catelyn_ ” he muttered to his father.

“What was that” Lord Hoster sniped.

“Nothing, my Lord. You are correct that Lady Rhialta would make a fine Lady Tully, and I suppose it can’t hurt to bind Wayfarers rest closer to Riverrun, but what on earth makes you think she would accept marriage to a man she barely knows” He pointed out, in a slightly bitter tone for he would be much pleased to have a Lady like Rhialta as a wife.

“She would accept a marriage to a man she barely knows for the same reason your sisters _both_ ” the emphasis on the last word telling Edmure that his father hadn’t missed his quip about Lysa’s marriage “accepted marriages to men they didn’t know, because it is the best thing for their family, and because it would make her wife of Lord Paramount” Hoster explained before continuing “and besides, she is likely the best we will get for you, your reputation means it is unlikely that a daughter of a Lord Paramount would accept you as a husband, if their even were any available” his father finished with a bitter tone to his voice.

“I will approach – ” Edmure began before being interrupted.

“You will go to war. I will approach Lord Vance and make the appropriate arrangements” Lord Hoster interjected before shooing him out of his solar.

 

* * *

 

Petyr stormed through the private entrance at the back of _The Maiden’s Allure_ , leaving a trail of shocked whores behind him. He was vibrating with fury after he had heard about the nuptials between Cat and the _Cripple of Highgarden._ He slammed the door to his private room behind him, hearing it rattle on its hinges. Sitting down his breath was laborious and he felt full of manic energy, spotting the old river stone Catelyn had given him on his twelfth name day and throwing it at the stone wall, the shattering sound soothing his nerves. There was a hesitant knock on the door, and he debated with himself whether to answer when whoever was on the other side knocked again.

He flung the door open with a growl.

“What do you want Maresa? He scowled at the madam of his first brothel. She straightened her neck before answering.

“Only to see why my boss was storming around in such a mood, it’s not good for business, scares the _clientele_ away” she sneered in return, squeezing her eyes shut for a second before she resumed speaking “Petyr, is there any reason my girls should be worried? What is the cause of this mood?” she questioned with a frown.

“My _mood,_ as you say has nothing to do with the establishment. I require the use of a girl for the night, red hair, young, small teats.” he demanded in an almost petulant tone that he reserved for when he was away from the gentry. Maresa nodded, before turning, presumably to acquiesce to his demand. “Oh and Maresa, never presume to question me again. You are not irreplaceable, no one is” he purred, his temper coming back under his control.

 

* * *

 

He could hear the sounds of swords clashing above him, behind him, in front of him. Robb could see no further than the end of his own blade as it slid through the arm of a man wearing crimson. A body fell of a horse in front of him, getting trampled by his own horse; he had to yank on the reigns to stop himself hitting the now riderless horse. There a crack to his right and a warm spurt of liquid hit the side of his helmet. He didn’t look down to see what it was. They pressed on, the cavalry in front of him disappearing like snow being washed away.

They had been fighting for hours or so it seemed when there was a break in the cavalry charge from in front of him, Robb raised his head slightly and saw in the distance a trout flying in the wind, bearing down on the rear of the Lannister host. Reinforcements had arrived. From then it was swift, barely an hour from the first sighting till Jaime Lannister was on his knees in front of him. There was dissent in his ranks about what to do with the Kingslayer, those with family who had fallen at the battle wanting him executed swiftly, without mercy, cooler heads prevailed though and it was a long march back to Riverrun with the Kingslayer as prisoner.

 

* * *

 

The men had left for war on the previous morning. There had been little to do outside of ensuring that Riverrun had everything necessary to survive under a siege. Now though, that Riverrun’s stores were full, Catelyn thought, time to turn to other matters. She asked her handmaiden to call for her sister, goodsister, goodmother and father to join her in the godswood. It was time to turn to the traitors in their midst.

 

* * *

 

Lord Hoster hobbled out to the godswood, somewhere that until recently had gone unvisited for nigh on a decade and now seemed to never be empty, with Northerners at prayer or Tyrell ladies sewing. The group that was waiting for him, his daughters both along with the future lady of Winterfell and the dowager Lady of Highgarden.

“Well, m’dear” he turned to his eldest “Why have you called us to meet”, he noticed both of the Reachwomen faces displayed the same inquisitiveness as his own.

“We need to discuss why it took the northern forces so long to reach us. The Late Lord Frey. He was reluctant to be involved in the last war, he is sworn to you and should have answered your call to this one and yet instead of allowing us passage he sought to bribery from us to pass, in the form of a marriage between his family and both Edmure and Robb. As well as the acceptance of a number of his other sons and daughters as pages and handmaids respectively.” She concluded with a bitter frown. Olenna and Margaery shared a glance.

“A disobedient vassal is certainly something to be concerned about, especially in these times. I noticed they sent only minimal men, perhaps a thousand if that, which is nothing when you consider they are supposed to be able to field ten thousand. Add that to their historical alliance with the Lannister’s… Well, I quite agree with Lady Catelyn that something needs to be done. The question is what?” _and why haven’t you done something sooner._

Hoster felt himself flush slightly at the unspoken reprimand, however earned it might have been.

“I might have an idea” Lysa spoke softly, her voice echoing in the ghostly silence of the woods.

“The Twins are full of sons and grandsons, daughters and granddaughters of the ever fertile Lord Frey” Lysa continued with a wry smile when she mentioned Lord Frey’s fertility. “Ambitious men and women. His heir Ser Stevron Frey is much more amiable than the current Lord, although he is perhaps the exception rather than the rule when it comes to the House Frey. His younger brother Emmon is married to Lady Genna Lannister and they along with their children reside in Casterly Rock.” She was interrupted by Lady Olenna who waved her hand.

“Yes, yes dearie. We know all this, what is your idea” she questioned Lysa with impudence, although Lysa’s only response was to smile a little before picking up where she had left off.

“Ser Stevron’s son Ser Ryman is said to be dull” Lady Olenna sighed quite loudly when Lysa’s monologue on the Frey’s continued.

“Ser Ryman’s son however, could be quite a useful ally. He is in line to inherit the Twins and his daughter Lady Walda after him, and may I just say how grateful I am that I was not named after you” she directed the last part of the statement to him with a grin. “Ser Edwyn could be easily turned in exchange for protection and support of both his claim and his daughters.  His brother Black Walder is said to want the Twins and we could use that”.

Lady Olenna snorted.

“They really are an unimaginative lot aren’t they, and I thought Mace was an oaf” she chuckled. Hoster smiled despite himself, _Queen of Thorns indeed._

“Use that how?” Catelyn asked, returning Hoster’s attention to the point at hand.

“Lord Walder feels like his family is not given the respect it deserves by Riverrun, but also usefully by Casterly Rock. Lord Tywin has Frey nephews and two grandnephews, the Lannister’s are more closely related to the Frey’s than we are, but you wouldn’t know it from talking to them. If we have a two pronged approach, firstly offer to foster Lady Walda in Riverrun or Winterfell then offer Ser Edwyn a place in the Vale, or Riverrun; somewhere he would know he was safe from Black Walder. For the second prong we need to do something to soothe the Lord of the Crossing’s wounded pride” Lysa drifted off, obviously deep in thought. A solution came from an unexpected place though when Lady Margaery offered her thoughts.

“If we invite, say, six of his daughters to become Ladies in Waiting to either myself, Lady Catelyn or Lady Lysa. We also invite some of his sons to squire for my brothers, and remind him of Casterly Rock’s lack of familial generosity by offering him a westerlander castle, once we have defeated Lord Tywin. Finally suggest that if he is loyal there might be a position for him or a family member with whoever ends up sitting on the Iron Throne” she suggested.

He noticed his daughters sharing a look before Catelyn spoke.

“That is precisely what we should do. I shall send the ravens at once”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://medievalandrenaissancecostumes.tumblr.com/post/45240871659/jane-seymour-portrayed-by-anita-briem-in-season - Is my headcanon for what Rhialta Vance looked like at Willas and Cats wedding.
> 
> This is what I imagine a small river in the riverlands would look like/where Robb got his river flowers - http://inspirinet.com/files/galleries/wallpaper/river_flowers_peru.jpg
> 
> This is my headcanon Willas Tyrell (for this fic anyway) - http://file2.answcdn.com/answ-cld/image/upload/f_jpg,w_672,c_fill,g_faces:center,q_70/v1/tk/view/cew/b0f38e60/abfad4fe6464e00380498190756eb608894d27b2.jpeg
> 
> Thankyou all for reading and reviewing :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letter are sent

_To the Lord Karyl Vance; Lord of Wayfarers Rest, sent from Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun, and Lord Paramount of the Riverland’s._

_I begin this correspondence with the goal of uniting our two great houses in matrimony. Your daughter, the Lady Rhialta’s, beauty is famed throughout the Riverland’s, and upon meeting her my son and heir, Lord Edmure has discovered that her loveliness has been understated and has fallen in love. Lady Rhialta smiled so beatifically at my son that I am assured of their mutual love for one and other. I ask then, for your daughters hand in marriage, that she may wed my son and join my family as gooddaughter and future Lady of Riverrun._

_In good health with wishes of the same for you and your kin._

_Lord Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun, Lord Paramount of the Riverland’s_

 

* * *

 

_Dear Brandon and Rickon,_

_I am writing because I wish to be the one to tell you this and I am sure that news will reach Winterfell and you before I will. I have taken Wills Tyrell as a husband, and Robb will take is sister Margaery to wife. We did this in order to secure the armies of the Reach to save your sisters lives. This will be a shock to you both and I hope that even if you cannot now, one day you will understand why I made the choices I made. I loved your father with all my heart and it breaks to think of spending my life with another, but Winter is Coming and sacrifices must be made. I will be returning to Winterfell alongside the Lord Willas Tyrell as Lady Catelyn of the Houses Tully, Stark and Tyrell. I will return once your sister’s have been rescued and your father’s bones returned to me._

_I do not know yet what the future holds for my new marriage. Winterfell will always have a strong place in my heart but I must make peace that it, like Riverrun all those years ago is no longer my home. It is the great tragedy of womanhood that our homes will always be tethered to the men in our lives. I love you both._

_Your Mother, Catelyn_

* * *

 

_Unto the Honourable Maester Luwin, Maester of Winterfell_

_I, Lady Catelyn, widow of the honourable and wise Lord Eddard Stark, Lord Paramount of Winterfell write to inform you of the campaign led by my son, your liege lord the honourable Robb Stark. We have gained the alliance of the Kingdom of the Mountain and the Vale, as well as my father’s Kingdom of the Riverland’s, finally we have through a marriage agreement joined forces with the Tyrells of Highgarden and increased our host with men and horses from the Kingdom of the Reach._

_I have taken the heir to Highgarden, Lord Willas Tyrell as lord and husband, and my son has taken the Lady Margaery Tyrell as his betrothed and future Lady of Winterfell and the North._

_I instruct you to shore up supplies in preparation for a wedding. Look after my sons._

_Yours Respectfully,_

_Lady Catelyn Tyrell_

* * *

 

_To the Right Noble, and Valorous, Lord Nestor Royce, Keeper of the Gates of the Moon and High Steward of the Vale in Correspondence, the Lady Lysa Arryn_

_Lord Nestor, I write on behalf of my son Lord Robert Arryn, Lord Paramount of the Mountain and the Vale as his Regent and Lady Mother. I ask that you begin the process of storing food, grain and the like, for the coming winter._

_The alliance started by my late husband between the Kingdoms of the Vale, the North and the Riverland’s has gained a new member in the form of the Kingdom of the Reach. My sister, the Lady Wife of Lord Eddard Stark has chosen to enter into a new marriage with the heir to Highgarden and the Reach, as well as betrothing the Lord Robb Stark, her son to the Lady Margaery of Highgarden, Widow of the Lord Renly Baratheon._

_In the name of Lord Robert Arryn of the Vale,_

_Regards, Lady Lysa Arryn_

* * *

 

_This letter is addressed to the Lord Walder Frey, Lord of the Twins, Vassal of Riverrun._

_I write to invite your son Ser Edwyn Frey, to Riverrun to serve on the Council of Rivers, to replace the late Ser Anton Fleming. I would also thank you for your contribution of soldiers to the Riverland’s Host. I would also invite six of your daughter’s to serve as Ladies in Waiting to my Daughter’s, Catelyn and Lysa, and to my future goodgranddaughter Lady Margaery Tyrell, two Ladies in waiting for each of them. Also Ser Loras Tyrell has, after seeing their family in the field expressed an interest in having two squires from the House of Frey. I would also like to extend an offer for six more of your sons to me made squires to knights and lords from the Vale or the Reach. Finally, in gratitude for all you have done for us, when we free my granddaughters from the clutches of the bastard Joffrey Waters, I would name one of your sons – of your choosing, Lord of one of the Westerlander castles we take, and a position for yourself with whomever should sit the Iron Throne at the end of this mess._

_Your Liege Lord,_

_Hoster of the House Tully, Lord Paramount of the Riverland’s._

* * *

 

There was silence once the horn rang out. The castle of Harren the Black rising, mangled, burnt but still imposing, in the distance. You could see the towers that had melted in the flames of Balerion. The soldiers were restless, weary but the sighting of Harrenhal seemed to invigorate them and their commanders as well. The castle had belonged to many people over the years, from its builder King Harren Hoare, House Qoherys to House Whent, who had lost the famed impregnable beast to Lord Tywin Lannister, who himself was riding to it, in hope it would shelter his many swordsmen while a new plan was devised. The loss, however temporary everyone insisted it was, of his favoured son had angered Lord Tywin to the point of almost recklessness. There were murmurings that his plans for the Starks would make the deaths of Prince Rhaegar’s children look like kindness.

* * *

 

Lysa entered the rooms she shared with her son, it was late in the day, almost time for the evening meal and yet she had more energy, felt more alive here than she had for years in Kings Landing; trapped as she were in the cage of an unhappy marriage. She did not like to think on her many  years as wife of Jon Arryn, almost as many years as not; although thank the gods she was able to rescue herself with help from her childhood friend, and one time lover.

She cast her mind back to the ecstatic, almost hysterical happiness she had felt when she grasped the vial of poison. _Tears of Lys,_ even now months later hearing the name felt like a blessing from the gods. Knowing that she would no longer have to suffer the unwanted touches of her husband, a benediction. There was anxiety, of course that she would be found out but Lysa thought it was better to have lived these moons alone and free and be executed than to have lived ten times as many as a prisoner, always wary.

There was always doubt in Lysa’s mind; she never could decide what caused her fertility problems, why her babes bled out of her; all but one. Whether to pin the blame on the age of her husband, who had had two wives before her, neither of whom were blessed with children; or on her father for the moon tea that was taken so dangerously late into her pregnancy, or herself for having mayhaps a weak womb or a cursed womb. It broke her heart when her baby asked for a brother or sister, as he had been doing more and more since they arrived at her childhood home. It was something she wanted to give him, but was it worth bringing a bastard into the world; because that was the only way she could have another child, having sworn of marriage. Would it even be possible, Lysa glided over to the window looking out at the grounds where children were playing. Perhaps they would visit Winterfell after the war, and he could play with his cousins. Robb had been somewhat of a disappointment to her Sweetrobin, being that they shared a name and blood but he was too busy with the war, and disinterested in playing with his cousin.

A bastard, _she giggled,_ at the thought of the noble men of the Vale having a Lady Paramount who had birthed a child out of wedlock. As she thought about it, Lys realized she could probably explain it away as her proving her fertility in search for a husband. It was an intriguing thought, but did she want to know. Did she want to know what the cause of her infertility was or would she be happier living in ignorance? There was a sharp knock at the door to her sleeping chamber and it jolted her out of her musings.

“Come in” she called out distractedly as she moved towards her dressing room. The ladies maid her father had assigned her, Qarla, entered. She was young, pretty enough, if only because she was in the bloom of youth with raven black hair that curled around her neck and skin the colour of chestnut. Oddly she reminded Lysa of Petyr’s fiercest competitors, the brother owner Chataya and her daughter Alayaya. Although Qarla did not hold herself with the same confidence, in fact her manner was almost identical to Lysa’s own at her age, quiet, restrained; like something caved in on itself. She walked with trepidation, the same trepidation that had brought Lysa down the aisle to Jon Arryn.

“Milady, I have been told to inform you that the evenin’ meal will be served in an hour’s time. Is there anything you would like me to do to help you prepare?” Qarla asked, shyly. Lysa, in an attempt to relax the girl, smiled and pointed toward a sky blue surcoat.

“If you would help me to wear that surcoat, it would be much appreciated” she asked. It was relaxing being attended to in almost silence. She wondered if her father would mind if she poached this maid from him. Lysa didn’t think so, her father, like most nobility took little to no notice of those who served them. It would be good to have at least one lady around her that she could trust, given that she was about to have two Frey Ladies in Waiting, and would probably take a Frey bastard or two in service. Qarla was competent though, and helped lace her up with nimble fingers. Lysa turned to stare at her maid, contemplating.

“Qarla, your service during my stay in Riverrun has been exemplary” she complimented, enjoying the shock that flashed its way across the maids face.

“I – I thank-you, Milady” Qarla stuttered, turning away from Lysa and fiddling a bit with her dress.

“I left the Vale in quite a rush, because of the war” Lysa mused. “How would you feel about transferring your employment from Riverrun to me?” she asked. “That is if you have no pressing connections to the Riverland’s” Lysa added. The expression on Qarla’s face was a blend of shock, and intrigue. So she was smarter than she seemed _good,_ Lysa thought to herself. More ambitious too it seemed as she watched Qarla weigh up her options in her head before replying.

“I would be honoured to serve you, my lady. In whatever capacity you require. My family live in Lord Harroway’s town, but I have nothing that would prevent me from joining your service. I have always wanted to travel after all” Qarla finished with a shy smile on her face.

“Good, that’s settled then. I will talk to my father tonight. Thank you for your help with me dress” Lysa added absently as she fished around in her jewel box to find the string of pearls she was planning to wear for dinner. _Ah, there they are_ she smiled, brushing her hair over her shoulder and fiddling with the clasp. It was more difficult to do up then she remembered, but then Lysa felt cools fingers touching hers.

“Let me, milady” Qarla smiled, doing up the clasp and then brushing her hair back with her hands so that it lay flat against Lysa’s back. They shared a smile before Lysa headed out for the evening meal. _Yes,_ Lysa thought, _poaching Qarla would be the best decision I have made in a long while._

 

 

* * *

 

 

_To King Stannis Baratheon, first of his name, Lord of Dragonstone, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, King of the Rhoynar, the Andals and the First men, Lord Protector of the seven Kingdoms._

_I, Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun, and Lord Paramount of the Riverland’s have received your missive declaring the illegitimacy of the former Queen Cersei’s children, and I name you my king. As you have no doubt heard in the wake of the wrongful murders of Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Lord Paramount of the North, Warden of the North, Hand of the King and Lord Jon Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, Lord Paramount of the Mountain and the Vale, Warden of the East, Hand of the King._

_I assume that you have heard of the wedding between my daughter and the heir to the Tyrell’s of Highgarden and the betrothal between my grandson, Lord Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Lord Paramount of the North, Warden of the North and the Lady Margaery Tyrell of Highgarden, widow of your late brother Lord Renly Baratheon. Your Grace, I will be frank, because I have heard that you prefer honesty and directness to honeyed dissemination. We have a common enemy, in the form of the Lannister’s of Casterly Rock, and we could make common cause to defeat them however there are some worries within our faction about the rise of yourself. Specifically whether your famous justice would take issue with pardoning the Tyrell’s; specifically you’re brother’s widow, who will soon become my daughter’s gooddaughter and is, as of a quarter moons turn my daughter’s goodsister. We understand that you have no cause to love them currently, however they are currently allied with us and as such their interests are our interests. Also there has been some murmurings concerning the repetition of history; people are concerned you may repeat your brother’s actions punish children for the sins of their parents._

_I ask that you reply with all haste so that we might unite and destroy the pretender Joffrey Waters and his mother the Whore of Casterly Rock_

_Lord Hoster of House Tully,_

_Lord of Riverrun,_

_Lord Paramount of the Riverland’s_

* * *

 

 “Cunt”

Robb’s head snapped up as he heard Theon swear.

“Pardon me” he said, in an exasperated tone as he watched his foster brother flop down beside him. His tent was better provisioned at more comfortable than most of the soldiers he travelled with but still, the thought of the warm bed waiting for him at Riverrun was almost more than he could bear. The temptation to take his horse and ride ahead; a lone rider covering much more ground than a host of the size he lead. 

“Not, you. Lannister. The Kingslayer. Fucking cunt, won’t stop whingeing when we all know that had the battle gone his way he would be being nowhere near as merciful as you have been to him” Theon explained, in a grouchy tone. Robb frowned slightly.

“As much as it gall’s me not to take his head right here, anything that happens to him will be visited on my sister’s –”

“I know. You don’t have to explain it to me, I just. Sansa and Arya are stuck in King’s Landing at the mercy of another king born of incest. Their plight can be laid at least in part at his feet and he seems to have no shame for what he has done.” Theon sighed. It was moments like these that made Robb glad Balon Greyjoy had crowned himself King in defiance of the Iron Throne, however selfish that might make him. He did not know what he would do without Theon, to quote the Seven-Pointed Star; _the blood of the covenant is thicker than the waters of the womb_. It was not accurate in all cases, but he was sure that the Starks were more Theon’s family than the Greyjoy’s, as much as he would, and had, always called Pyke home.

“He will. He will feel shame; I will make sure he knows the full consequences of his actions. We will not stoop to the tactics of the Lannister’s, but his stay with us will not be pleasant. I will not torture him for fear of reprisal however that does not mean he will be treated with kindness. The cells at Riverrun are no less terrible for not having the reputation of the Sky Cells or the Black Cells.” Robb drawled, _and the cells in the north are worse again._ All this though would not help his sisters though as much as a quick and decisive victory, ending with a new King on the Iron Throne. Theon sighed once more before rolling over and getting up, muttering as he left Robb’s tent, presumably to go to his own tent.

“Still a cunt”

 

* * *

 

Robb’s host descended rapidly on Riverrun, a tent city with men and women from Sunflower Hall and the Arbor to the Last Hearth and Queenscrown camping together. It was a beautiful show of unity that unfortunately Robb was unable to enjoy as he had tasked himself with escorting the Kingslayer to his cell in Riverrun. Robb wished he could take him down to the water cells but unfortunately Ser Jaime’s birth meant that he would have the relative comfort of a cell in the main castle. The sea of people parted before him with barely disguised glee, more than a few of the citizens of the tent city were refugees from Tywin Lannister and the Mountains pillaging of the Riverland’s, and the North had heard of his attack on Robb’s own father. There was no love for the Kingslayer here. The gates of Riverrun opened and Robb paused, not knowing quite where to take his prisoner

“Nephew, follow me” his Uncle Edmure stepped away from the group congregated in the entrance hall, his mother and bride curtseying but staying well away. “Bring the sister fucker along with you”. There was a crash as Ser Jaime lunged at Edmure, forgetting mayhaps the chains he wore. Robb, who had been holding the Kingslayer’s chain’s stumbled forward but managed to keep himself and his charge upright. Luckily his uncle was nimble footed and managed to dance out of Ser Jaime’s path. Robb was sure his surprise was as evident on his face as it way on his uncle’s, Ser Jaime had – excluding his loud and constant whingeing been a model prisoner, or at least a peaceable one. He seemed to have regained his hold on his temper although the glare he continued to level and Edmure was venomous. Robb watched as his uncle took a step backward before speaking.

“So, no mentioning the Mother of Bastards, I take it” he jibed. Robb watched Ser Jaime’s fists clench and unclench, but the man showed no other indication he had heard the slurs.

 

* * *

 

_From King Stannis of the House Baratheon, First of his name, Lord of Dragonstone, Lord of Storms End, King of the Rhoynar, the Andals and the First men, Rightful King on the Iron Throne, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm to the Lord Hoster of the House Tully, Lord of the Riverland’s in the name of R’hllor, the Lord of Light._

_If you and your kin are the true men my brother, King Robert, believed you were you will take up your swords in defence of the Kingdom and swear fealty to me. I accepted the oaths of loyalty of many men who fought underneath the banner of the Usurper, my brother, provided they bent the knee. I am a just King, and I would despite my past difficulties with them, accept the Tyrell’s are loyal vassals provided they bend the knee and foreswear their previous allegiances. My brother’s widow included. I do have some understanding of the limited choices of women so the blame for that is not something I would rest on the shoulders of Lady Margaery. I do not need to offer justifications of my actions as I am the King however my hand, Lord Davos Seaworth has advised me to make it clear that I have no intention of killing children or raping women. Every man under my banner knows the punishment for such a crime._

_I ask that you send a representative to Dragonstone, that we might plan an attack on the capital._

_Stannis Baratheon, King of the Seven Kingdoms._

 

* * *

 

Catelyn wondered as she walked alongside the Red Fork, the sun beating down on her; how her letters were being received in Winterfell, what Bran was making of all this. She hoped that Maester Luwin would be able to provide some comfort or explanation. Catelyn prayed the war would be a quick one that she might return to the North, albeit with a husband in tow. She hoped that Willas would not mind living in the Castle of her first husband, at least for one year that she might spend time with her children and watch them grow. Perhaps she could convince him to stay until after the birth of his sister’s first child, or perhaps until his sister gives Robb an heir. At the very least he will want to stay for his sister’s wedding; and if she plays her card’s right she will be able to extend the planning of that for a few moons.

If she gives him a child she should be able to play on her age and convince him that it would be dangerous to travel. Men all knew so little of the process of bringing children into the world that it was never difficult to get them to acquiesce to your wishes; or that had been her experience. Ned had fallen over himself to ensure her happiness with her eldest daughter, Sansa’s birth. Her first pregnancy of course was here at Riverrun and her father all but fell over him to keep her healthy, the potential heir to the north growing inside her. Catelyn wondered if she was cursed, two war weddings at Riverrun and then birthing an heir to a Great House away from the ancestral home of aforementioned Great House. She only hoped to avoid the next part of the story, meeting her husband, her with an heir, him with a bastard.

Her pregnancy with Bran though would always be her favourite to remember, and she doubted that any future pregnancy would compare. Her second son, her first child born of love rather than duty. Robb being conceived on the eve of war, Sansa later when she had allowed him entry to her bedchamber after barring her door. Her anger, and hurt over his bastard still fresh in her mind.

It was perhaps not logical, they had only spent two days together before he left for war. She did not have any claim over his heart, but still it hurt that he thought so little of her that he would bring proof of his infidelity into her home to be raised alongside her children. It was why there was a gap of two years between Ned’s return to Winterfell and the conception of her eldest daughter. Moon tea was the saviour of many a high born Lady and Catelyn was no different. It kept her from being in the perpetually pregnant state that some women, and farm animals were forced to suffer in. It was a gift from the gods, yet also an affront to the gods if you believed the strict interpretation of the Seven-Pointed Star that the men of the faith preached.

He had not harmed her children, or attempted to steal their claim. Perhaps it was his vows to the Nights Watch or simple the old adage, out of sight; out of mind. He would hopefully follow in the footsteps of the current Maester of the Nights Watch, and remain faithful to his vows no matter the outside temptation. Nevertheless, Jon Snow was not her priority; that would be her daughters until such time as they were returned safely to her arms. This should be soon given that they held the Kingslayer and knowing what everyone now knew about the golden twins of Casterly Rock.

Catelyn wondered if Lysa was planning on traveling up North to Winterfell to watch her nephew marry. It would be nice to spend some time with Lysa outside of this place that held so many memories for both Tully girls. Although Catelyn did hope that Lysa employing her new maid, _what was her name, oh right, Qarla_ , was an indication that Lysa’s disdain for the Riverland’s and everyone who lived in them was lessening although she did not hold out any hope that that meant that she would forgive their father. That was one bridge Catelyn suspected would remain burnt. The sun was shining though and her husband had returned from the first battle without any damages that she noticed, although she had not had the opportunity to give Willas a thorough examination.

There was the sound of feet scuffling through the grass, so she turned her head, shielding her face from the sun with one hand. Lady Olenna was hobbling toward her accompanied by her two guards and the Lady Margaery. Catelyn had enjoyed the opportunity to get to know the Queen of Thorns, who while caustic was not nearly as cruel as her reputation would suggest, privately Catelyn thought it was less likely that her husband had ridden of a cliff to avoid her and more likely that he was just dim witted and men not liking the control a women would therefore have had over the Reach and Highgarden made Lady Olenna out to be a monster. It both protected the reputation of a man and ensured that the women who in all likelihood had kept the Reach thriving would not have excess power, or any really when her son took on the mantle of Lord Tyrell.

“Lady Catelyn” Lady Olenna called out, sounding not nearly as exhausted as her appearance would suggest.

“Lady Olenna” Catelyn replied, remembering at the last minute a small curtsy. Her manners, that which had been entrenched in her since she learned to walk and that she had entrenched in her daughters, or tried to in the case of her youngest, were faltering now. The death of her beloved and the stress of her missing girls taking its toll.

“I don’t suppose you have seen my grandson walking about have you?” the Queen of Thorns asked with a wry smile.

“Lord Willas?” Catelyn questioned, “Unfortunately I have not seen my husband, or Ser Loras for that matter” she added.

“Pity” Lady Olenna sighed. “You can let go of my arm now dear” she turned to her granddaughter, “I am old, not infirm. I am perfectly capable of walking under my own steam”

“Yes, Grandmother” Lady Margaery replied with a small nod. She was humouring her grandmother, yet her tone had significant respect in it as well. It spoke well of the Lady Margaery though, her relationship with the Lady Olenna, she would make a good Lady of Winterfell. Her experience with the Queen of Thorns would prepare her better for dealing with Old Nan then Catelyn had. There was a slightly awkward pause as the three women, all of House Tyrell in one way or another admired the flowers growing alongside the river.

“It is good that all the men returned from the battle in good health” Lady Margaery commented, _she had,_ Catelyn thought, _the common inability of youth to enjoy silence for its own sake._ Catelyn murmured an agreeing sound, in sync with Lady Olenna. She wondered when Lady Olenna and Lady Margaery would raise whatever they felt the need to track her down to discuss.

“Capturing the Kingslayer is surely a boon for our side, however the war is nowhere near won, and Lord Tywin will no doubt be all the fiercer an enemy for the loss, not counting Queen Cersei’s reaction. After all you know what they say about cornered animals” Lady Olenna observed.

 _Cornered animals, caged animals,_ Catelyn thought _either way they are deadly._

“You raise a good point, my Lady” Catelyn agreed. “We must not rest on our laurels. Harrenhal and Lord Tywin should be where we turn our eyes next. Quickly too, Lord Tywin has a formidable mind for battle and we mustn’t allow him time to plan or Kings Landing time to assist him”

A smile graced the face of Lady Olenna then, almost proud but not quite. “If I have said it once, I have said it a thousand times. All the world’s problems would be solved if the men would listen to their mothers” Lady Olenna croaked before turning to Lady Margaery “It is a lesson I have tried to instil in my son, but unfortunately the oaf can’t seem to understand. Mayhaps I did not beat him enough as a child. It is irrelevant now, I only thank the god’s Lady Alerie rules him with more skill then he would otherwise rule the Reach”

“Grandmother” Lady Margaery gasps. “What will Lady Catelyn think of us, talking that way about our beloved Lords?”

“I hope she’ll think we have more than two brain cell’s to rub together between us” Lady Olenna advised her granddaughter before turning her attention to Lady Catelyn, a frightening prospect if she was honest. “Willas is a good sort, can manage money reasonably well and has many pursuits of varying value. Trainable enough though, much less oafish than his father or grandfather. I think it’s the Redwyne blood coming through although Alerie will argue it’s the Hightower blood”

“I, uh, thank you” Catelyn responded, her confusion seeping into her speech.

“You’re welcome dear. We are all family now after all speaking of family; let’s hunt down this wayward husband of yours. We have a war to win” Lady Olenna finished before marching off in the direction of the stables. It was only as the stables came into view that Catelyn realized Lady Olenna and Lady Margaery had known where Willas was the entire time. _A test,_ Catelyn supposed, _but did I pass it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The council of River's is like a regional "Small Council", there is a Maester, a Master of Laws, a Master of Coin, A Master of Agriculture, and a Septon   
> I do not agree with or endorse Hoster's view's or language w/r/t Cersei.  
> I know the quote about "blood being thicker than water" is from the bible, but Christianity doesn’t exist in Terros so…   
> Edmure has been raised by Hoster in a patriarchal society – so while I don’t think he is a bad person or anything I did want to show how even the “good guys” fall into the trap of slutshaming.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Next chapter should be up this time next week

Lord Hoster’s solar wasn’t big enough to hold all the people who needed to meet and so an unused set of rooms facing the River Gate were cleared out, and they were made the War Room. When Lysa entered, the Tyrells, Lord Willas, Ser Loras, Lady Olenna and Lady Margaery were already waiting, along with her sister Lady Catelyn. She came alone, Robin had made friends with Lord Dexter Keath’s youngest son Derryk and they were currently trying, unsuccessfully to catch trout. There was a cough from behind, and Lysa flushed slightly when she realized she had been blocking the door. Her girth was something she loved, both because it ensured Jon would not come to her chambers more than he needed to, to fulfil his _duty,_ and because Lysa loved being soft. After so many years of pain, of watching babies bleed out of her like she was cursed, living in a cold unhappy marriage to a hard man, softness was something she appreciated. Her body kept her son alive against the odds. Yet she knew that it caused other’s to judge her, and made it difficult for people to move around her at times.

Lysa took her seat, watching as her sister entered, being trailed by her nephew, who lit up slightly upon looking at his betrothed. It did not surprise her much that Robb would be so enamoured with the Lady Margaery, she was both beautiful and witty. Lady Margaery also had the advantage of being raised and taught by one the finest political minds of their generation, the Queen of Thorns. Robb was also despite all his military success, still a young boy blinded by his cock. The silence was punctuated by Lady Olenna, who ordered one of her guards, Ser Erryk if Lysa remembered correctly, to pour her a cup of Arbor gold while they waited for their host. It was just as Ser Erryk finished pouring her ladyships wine that her Father entered. He was followed by her Uncle and Brother. Lord Hoster sat down at the table with a thud.

“Well, now that everyone has arrived shall we begin” Lady Olenna remarked, the caustic nature of her words brought an unbidden smile to Lysa’s lips as she responded.

“Yes, that sounds like a good plan, my Lady. I have given it some thought and Stannis, distasteful as he is, seems like the only sane option left” she surmised. Her father frowned when she spoke of Stannis but otherwise did not counter her. The Tyrell ladies shared a look before Lady Olenna gestured for her granddaughter to speak.

“We have” Lady Margaery motioned toward herself, her grandmother and her brother’s “talked as well about this topic, and have come to the same conclusion. Lord Hoster” here she nodded toward Lysa’s father, “and my grandmother have written together, and sent a letter to Stannis offering our support with certain conditions”.

Lysa was not sure what to focus on, the fact that apparently her father had contacted Stannis without consulting her, or indeed anyone else from the Vale or the fact that Lady Olenna appeared to still be quite capable of manipulating men around her. It was admirable. Catelyn however did not seem to have any trouble deciding what part of Lady Olenna’s statement to focus her not inconsiderable ire upon.

“You sent a letter to Stannis without consulting me, without consulting Robb? Or Lysa? My daughters are currently being held hostage. Why on earth would you not tell me or Robb” Catelyn fumed.

“I did not promise anything. All I did was open up the lines of communication” Hoster said, in an obvious effort to subdue his daughter. Lysa could see her sister gearing up for a fight and unfortunately as much as she would love to see her father be verbally destroyed, that was not the priority.

“Lady Olenna, may I ask what the letter said” Lysa queried, quite successfully turning people’s attention away from the brewing fight, although she was not naïve enough to think that Catelyn would let go of it so easily, there would be a reckoning for their father later on, she was sure of it.

“Of course, although you will have to forgive me if my old age prevents me from remembering the exact wording” Lady Olenna, sniffed, playing up her infirmity. “I believe we offered our martial support of him, with some conditions. Those being that he forgives the mistakes made in following Renly” Lysa flicked her eyes over to Renly’s purported lover, but Loras Tyrell showed no signs of discomfort that she could see. “I have always said that crowning him was a fool’s errand, but Mace wanted a Crown for Margaery so there we were. We also asked him to write back with haste, so that proper representatives could be sent to finalize the agreement” There was silence as everyone ingested the Queen of Thorns words.

“Which is why we are here today, I assume. To discuss what we would want out of this agreement and then decide who we would send to negotiate it?” Lysa clarified, drawing nods from everyone. “We would want to be acknowledged when he is crowned, yes? So royal appointments to begin with?” Lysa theorized.

“Quite right, sister” her brother spoke up. “I would suggest places on the small council for representatives from the Vale, the Reach, the Riverland’s and the North.” Edmure hypothesized.

“Do you have anyone in mind for these appointment’s my Lord” Lady Margaery asked, ducking her head as she did so to give the image of demureness.

“Not as such, no” Edmure stuttered.

“Might I then offer a proposal?” Lady Margaery asked, continuing once she saw Edmure nod his approval “My uncle Lord Paxter Redwyne would make an admirable Master of Ships”

“Not your father?” Edmure questioned

“No” Lady Margaery replied, a slight frown gracing her features “Unfortunately, given his actions in Robert’s rebellion and with Renly it is unlikely Stannis would accept someone bearing the name Tyrell on his small council. Lord Paxter is qualified, not a Tyrell and would represent the Reach fairly” She explained, her brothers nodding.

“Might I suggest if we are talking about Royal appointments, given that a Tyrell will not sit on the small council that we put Loras forward as a member of the Kingsguard?” Willas suggested genially.

“Stannis would probably be more amiable to Ser Loras joining his Kingsguard than he would be Ser Loras joining his small council. He will in all likelihood have to replace a good number of the Kingsguard.” Catelyn confirmed what her husband had said.

“So, we have Lord Paxter as Master of Ships?, He has named Davos Seaworth as his hand, does anyone have any suggestions for Master of Laws, or Master of Whispers or Master of Coin?” Lysa asked trying to steer the conversation back to the reason they were all there.

“Perhaps, for Master of Laws, a Riverlander?” Lord Robb recommended. “I personally do not know the strengths or weaknesses of the River Lords but perhaps my grand sire has an opinion?”

“I would suggest myself for the role but unfortunately I am needed here. Edmure would make a passable Master of Laws” Lord Hoster grumbled.

Lysa turned her head when she hears Edmure mutter, “Passable” under his breath. It was hard to restrain herself from reaching out to her baby brother, but needs must.

“Aunt, do you have any suggestions for the representative from the Vale” Lord Robb asked without preamble. It was a good question, there were many that would fulfil the role of Master of Coin without cause for complaint but she knew how Petyr had kept his books and would not wish that entanglement on anybody. Which left the seats of Master of Whispers and the Grand Maester. Unfortunately there were no Valemen in the upper echelons of the Citadel.

“Perhaps, a Valeman for the position of Master of Whispers” she spoke slowly, testing out the idea. “There are many in the Vale who would consider it a sign of dishonour to be in charge of spies.” She conceded when she received looks of askance from her father and Uncle. “However there are also men of integrity who understand the necessity of spies in this world. Mayhaps a Royce, or a Grafton of Gulltown. I would like the position to go to Lady Myranda Royce, as she is capable and has shown a penchant for weeding out the secrets, but unfortunately her youth would predispose Stannis against appointing her” Lysa acknowledged. It was a pity she thought but if she made bringing Lady Myranda to Kings Landing to act as second in command for whoever the nominee for Master of Whispers ended up being, then eventually Lady Myranda could be named to the position herself.

“So that leaves one open position, after Lord Paxter becomes Master of Ships, Lord Edmure Master of Laws and an as yet unnamed Valeman as Master of Whispers. Given that the North does not currently have any representation in this theoretical small council of King Stannis’ mayhaps a Northern Lord could become Master of Coin” Lysa’s sister Catelyn interjected breaking the silence that had arisen after she finished speaking.

“I agree, Mother. Perhaps if we are suggesting a Northman for Master of Coin, Lord Manderly? The Manderly’s are our richest vassals and they follow the Faith of the Seven unlike the rest of the North, so he would most likely have the easiest time on the Small Council” Lord Robb’s words were met with approval from the rest of the group. Lysa also suspected that Stannis would be inclined to like the idea, given the Manderly’s historic eviction from the Reach. They would already have one thing in common, a distrust of the Tyrell’s.

“So we have come to an agreement then about our _suggestions_ for the new small council?” Lady Olenna surmised. It was a question that brooked no disagreement. “We are also _suggesting_ Ser Loras for the Kingsguard?” Lady Olenna again place emphasis on word suggesting, which made it clear that they were not in fact. The mention of the Kingsguard though reminded Lysa of something she had been meaning to bring up.

“Speaking of the Kingsguard” she turned to her Uncle Brynden, “I would propose that Uncle Brynden also join. He is quite adept martially, and the Riverland’s have given much already in this war” Her eyes remained focused on her Uncle’s though her father was the one who responded.

“That is a wonderful idea, Lysa” he seemed to accept on behalf of his brother even though Uncle Brynden was sitting right next to him. “Of Course we shall put Brynden forward as a Kingsguard, along with Ser Loras” he nodded to the Tyrell whose eyes were currently focused on Brynden with a speculative gleam.

“Now, that we have decided the rewards that we shall give ourselves. What about the Lannister’s” Lady Olenna snarked.

“What do you mean what about the Lannister’s?” Lysa asked.

“I mean, what shall we do with them?” Lady Olenna clarified, coughing slightly.

“I had thought that we would allow my daughter’s to decide on the final punishments of Cersei, her bastards and the Imp. They, after all have suffered the most at the hands of those monsters” Catelyn spat. She did raise a good point. Lysa saw the Tyrell’s nodding along, and knowing what they had lost because of the Lannister’s, no doubt they were counting on her nieces to be vicious, to truly become the wolves their sigil represented.

“I also want to, and this may be unpopular given how much we have all lost thanks to Lord Tywin's precious golden twins, ensure that it is clear that we will not allow another _event,_ like the deaths of Princess Elia and her children” Lysa intoned. There was slight offense on the faces that stared back at her, but she could not in all good conscience not voice her concerns.

“Of course. That is not even up for debate. We will not allow such a shameful _event_ ” Lord Willas mirrored her emphasis on the word event. “In our collective history to repeat itself”

“Lady Sansa and Lady Arya’s input regarding the punishments of those disgraceful, _people_ ” there was a pause before Lady Olenna continued “Will of course be held in the highest regard. Nevertheless we ought to have some idea of what punishments we would deem appropriate, for the bastards at the very least.” Lady Olenna finished, her tone ensuring there would be no disagreements. She turned to her grandson; obviously to hint that he should continue were she left off.

“As we all seem to agree that sparing the lives of Myrcella, Tommen and Joffrey given their age and the influence Queen Cersei and the Kingslayer have upon them” Willas stated, waiting till everyone had nodded towards him their acquiescence to his plan before picking up his train of thought “We still need a plan for what to do with them” he supposed. There were murmurs of agreement from most people but no one seemed inclined to offer any solutions. Just as Lysa herself was about to speak, her sister piped up.

“Why don’t we begin with the youngest, from what I remember of him, when we met at Winterfell, Tommen was a shy, slightly chubby boy. He seemed to lack the propensity for _violence_ exhibited by both his brother and the late King Robert. In order to secure the throne however he cannot be allowed to go free, so perhaps arranging an occupation for him with vows against furthering his line.” Lady Catelyn advocated, her goodmother’s eyes gleaming with untold speculation. Lysa felt herself nodding along to her sisters commentary on little Prince Tommen’s character. He was a sweet boy, him and Myrcella perhaps the only truly innocent in this whole mess.

“You are suggesting a Septry then, or the Citadel” Lord Hoster asked, “Your comments on his nature seem to indicate that the Night’s Watch is not the place for him?” he glanced toward Lady Catelyn to confirm his supposition.

“We would then give him the choice of taking a chain or Septon’s vows” Lady Olenna coughed as she finished, the only symptom Lysa had seen of her supposed infirmity.

“That leaves the bastard king and Myrcella, who is, if my information is correct currently heading to Dorne to be with her betrothed Prince Trystane Martell” Lady Catelyn finished, ignoring the noise of disgust her goodmother had made upon the mention of the rulers of Dorne.

“The Martell does will need to be kept in mind when we make any decisions about the girl. May I suggest legitimizing her as a Lannister, albeit one without the title of lady” Lord Willas added when he saw the disdain that flitted across the features of many in the room, his famed friendship with Oberyn Martell coming into play.

“So, you are suggesting we do nothing to prevent the wedding then, of the Martell boy and Myrcella” Lord Hoster’s disdain for the Martell’s becoming obvious to everyone, much to the approval; Lysa noted of the Queen of thorns. She wondered whether her father’s distaste stemmed from his dislike of the way they embraced women as people capable of leadership or the Dornish mores regarding sexuality, or she supposed it could also be the way they refused to shame bastards and sat them alongside the highest lords and ladies of their realm.

“Yes, the girl has little claim to anything and the Dornish are not likely to support any attempt to hurt the child, given that she is being fostered by Prince Doran and that to do so would be breaking guest right.” Lord Willas rebutted, continuing on after the ensuing silence had lasted a few minutes. “After all that is why Lord Jon Arryn” he nodded to Lysa then, “raised his banners is it not, in defence of his foster son’s? Let the girl live out her days in Dorne, married to a second son” he finished. There were uneasy looks on the faces of Lord Hoster and Lady Olenna but neither contradicted Lord Willas. Her Uncle then spoke, breaking the quiet.

“So the fates of the youngest are decided and Joffrey will take the black and live out his days a servant of the Realm. My granddaughter’s will help name the fates of the elder Lannister’s, the Imp and the Queen. We will also inform our troops that rape and pillage of King’s Landing will not be accepted under any circumstances” Lord Hoster intoned. There were murmurings of agreement before the people began drifting out to continue their days.

* * *

 

 

 

Catelyn awoke to the sound of her new husband, Lord Willas moving around their chambers. The curtains were shut and the room shrouded in darkness. There was a pleasant soreness in her cunt and she had mostly been able to stop feeling guilty for lying with her new husband. Eddard was dead and while they may meet in the afterlife for now Willas was the man she had pledged to honour and obey, even her father would not suggest honouring vows made to bones. Thinking back on the previous night’s sex fanned the flames of her curiosity, her husband was skilled in the bedchamber and yet she had heard not a whisper of a paramour or excessive trips to pleasure houses. They were married and yet, Catelyn could not bring herself to ask the questions she wished.

“Catelyn is something the matter” Willas’ voice broke her out of the reverie that she had been in.

“Sorry, I was only” _be brave,_ she thought to herself, _this man is your husband_. “Wondering; and if this is too impertinent a question please feel free to refuse to answer. You are skilled in the art of bed sports yet, I have heard no tell of a lover” Catelyn whispered, the topic of her speech such that she kept her voice quiet even in the privacy of her rooms. Her husband sighed slightly and made his way over to the bed. His leg was stiff she could see and yet the knee was not red or swollen, from what Willas had said this meant it was one of his good days.

“I have not had many lovers over the years, though I do not shame those who seek variety.” He took a deep breath. “I made vows to you in a sept vows that I would be loath to break so know that while I am still fond of some of my past lovers I will not stray from your bed. As you are no doubt aware the cause of my crippled knee was a tourney injury from when I was naught but a green boy. I faced off against the Red Viper of Dorne and lost. You may also have noticed my families continued _displeasure_ with the royal family of Dorne. I do not share that sentiment. I was young and foolhardy and it was not _Oberyn’s_ fault”.

Catelyn’s breath caught in her throat; the way he spoke the name of the famed Prince of Dorne reminded her of how Lysa used to speak Petyr’s name, a caress in her voice.

“It was mine own, I was too young and foolhardy and I have paid the price. Oberyn was kind, and offered his skills to treat my wounds. He and I are friends, were friends first but we also, over the years, he has brought his paramour Ellaria Sand to visit many times and we are lovers, all three of us. The passions we shared would be labelled as sinful and wrong by many of the men and women in the faith but… I do not believe that anything borne of friendship and love the way my relationship with Oberyn and Ellaria was could ever be wrong” Willas finished.

He was seated in front of Lady Catelyn on the bead his hands hovering in front of him as if to reach for her. To offer comfort maybe. At many point’s in her life, a confession like the one Lord Willas had just given her would have been horrifying, to say the least. She had grown up being taught by Septa’s, Septon’s, Maesters, not to say anything of her father, that such behaviour was abominable, like to get you sentenced to the deepest of the seven hells and yet, here, now she could not bring herself to hate him. It would be ridiculous of her to expect that he would be untouched when he came to her bed. He was after all a man grown, and had been for some years before their wedding day. There were worse partners for him to take to bed than a Prince of Dorne and his bastard Paramour after all, she could have been as unlucky as King Robert and married someone in love with their own blood. There were still some anxieties though.

“You say borne of love, am I to take that to mean that you are, in love with Prince Oberyn or his Paramour?” Catelyn was surprised at the amount of anxiety asking that question brought out in her. She was not in love with this new husband of hers, but she hoped that one day they could grow to love each other as friends, if not in the way she had loved Ned.

“No, I am not in love with Oberyn, I love him and Ellaria both, but I am not in love with them. They will always be an important part of my life, albeit perhaps in a new way now that I am married.” Willas fell silent. Catelyn took a moment and tried to think through how this all made her feel. She was happy that he had been honest, and she was also relieved that he was not in love with someone else, although it would probably be fair if he was given that she was still in love with a ghost.

“I –, I was very young when I married my first husband. We were both still grieving his brother and then he brought _Jon Snow,_ to live with us. It took a while before I was comfortable lying with him again let alone trusting him with my heart. I love all my children equally and yet Bran will always have a space in my heart reserved for him alone as he was my first born out of love. I do not begrudge you your past or seek to prevent you from happiness. I know myself well enough to know that it is unlikely I will ever share the kind of love I had with Eddard with you. Know that I do not say this to hurt you, only I do not want to mislead you. If you would wish to, as I think you were hinting, again join Prince Oberyn and his paramour in their bed I would not stop you, only I would ask that you attempt to ensure that I am the only mother of your children”. She finished her speech walking over to the window where she could see children playing near the river, her nephew among them if her eyesight had not failed her.

When she turned back to her husband he appeared to be in shock, he gaped at her.

“Thank-you, both for your honesty and understanding. I would not stray without your blessing and I would never bring a bastard into this world if I could help it. I had no misconceptions that you and I would be a love for the ages, but I do share your hope that we could be friends, allies, a mutual support system in these trying times” his voice trailed off at the end. They remained still, facing each other until there was a knock at the door shocking them out of their contemplation. Lord Willas called out an invitation for whoever was on the other side to enter. One of the maid’s her father had assigned her along with Lord Willas’ manservant entered the room and their day began.

 

* * *

 

 

Robb stood at the head of the combined host as the rode toward Kings Landing and his sisters. Ser Jaime was sitting in a large cage suspended between two horses toward the back of the riders. He had been silent once he had been told where they were headed, before then Robb had been concerned that his tongue would provoke an attack by his guards. Something that would undoubtedly have ended with the Kingslayer’s death, no matter his own bravado he was weapon less and surrounded by angry men. His betrothed was riding in a litter with his new good brother at the moment.

The Lady Margaery had been a surprise. He had not expected to like her or enjoy her company. Robb knew he would find her beautiful, plain girls are not given titles like _The Rose of Highgarden,_ and yet it was her wit and her _kindness_ that made him hopeful for their marriage. Lady Margaery was unfailingly kind to everyone, from the lowest of servants to the highest of lords. She embodied in his mind the ideals of an old Northron saying he was taught as a child by old Nan, _you reap what you sow_. He felt certain that Lady Margaery would reap only happiness once settled as Lady of Winterfell and he had a small hope that one day when people spoke of _a True Winter’s Rose,_ they would speak of his wife rather than his Aunt.

Robb Stark looked ahead to the looming walls of Kings Landing. They had been riding for weeks, going out of their way to avoid Harrenhal and Lord Tywin’s host although as they rode closer to the capital Robb began to see that that delay had been unnecessary as, unless his eyes were deceiving  him Lord Tywin had made his way to his daughter and was holding Kings Landing. There had been mutterings and the walls and castle grew in front of them and he could see many shifting uneasily on their horses. Kings Landing would not be an easy city to take, but take it they must, for vengeance. His father’s murder would not go unrevenged.

His head snapped to the left when he heard the sound of a trumpet. He tightened his hold on his horse and ground to a stop, hearing the men and horses behind him follow his lead. A small group was riding out of the gates of Kings Landing holding the rainbow flag of the seven along with what he assumed was the banner the bastard King had chosen for himself, the duality of stag and lion was a striking choice although he wondered how Queen Cersei and Lord Tywin had allowed him to use it, instead of King Robert’s royal sigil. As the party rode nearer they slowed down, coming to a standstill around half a league in front of the main vanguard.

Ser Brynden and the Bronze Yohn rode toward him from the Riverlander and Valeman host’s respectively. He also saw his mother moving fast on her mare through the Reachmen, followed swiftly by Ser Loras.

 

* * *

 

Lady Catelyn was almost shaking in her fury. She stood in the tent that had been hastily erected for the purpose of peace talks between the Lannister’s and their coalition. She sat with her son, sister, husband, uncle and brother and yet she felt exposed. She faced the man who had tried to kill her son, the Lannister Imp and opened her mouth hoping for some of her courtesies to remain with her but all that came up was bile. She threw herself backward, away from the table and rushed outside where she heaved up the little that she had been able to choke down before the meeting. As she composed herself she heard the voice of the Imp floating out of the tent.

“I am, and have always been an ugly thing yet that is the first time I have made someone vomit. An achievement of sorts I suppose” she could hear bitterness in his voice yet felt no pity. Catelyn kept her head up as she returned to the tent and took her seat, waving away the concerned looks she was receiving. No one spoke; everyone seemed to be waiting for the other side to crack first.

“Lord Tyrion, you have sought us out for peace talks under the banner of the faith. Speak, tell us why we are here” Willas’ courtesies just as polished as his sisters.

“Lord Willas, Starks. I have been sent to negotiate. I am after all the most _disposable_ member of my family” the Imp answered.

“Alright, Lord Tyrion then let’s negotiate. We do not want the deaths of your nephews or your niece in Dorne. Your sister will step aside for the rightful King Stannis. Ladies Sansa and Arya will be returned to their families unharmed. The Kingslayer, Lady Cersei, yourself, Joffrey Waters, and Lord Tywin will be put on trial with the testimony of the aforementioned Ladies Sansa and Arya being given utmost influence. Tommen Waters will be given the choice of joining the Faith or earning a chain and becoming a Maester. He will be fostered out with a family of our choosing until such time as he is old enough to make those vows.” Lord Willas’ voice remained steady and calm although Catelyn could see his knees betraying his nerves. It was a risky move demanding so much so quickly but taking Kings Landing by force, while possible was not ideal even with the added troops her marriage alliance had brought.

Instead of answering Willas’ opening demands the green and black eyes of the Imp turned to stare straight at Catelyn. They were filled with something she couldn’t quite identify, anger perhaps or no _pity_.

“My Lady, I am sorry to have to tell you this but no one has seen neither hide nor hair of Lady Arya since Lord Eddard’s execution”


	7. Chapter 7

Robb stood in the sleeping tent that had been erected for him when people realized that the negotiations were going to take more than one day. The party the Lannister’s sent had returned to the city with the promise that they would meet four hours past sunrise again to resume the talks. He could not bring himself to lie down to sleep knowing that Arya was lost or dead, alone in the world. There was some relief that the Lord Tyrion seemed to be open to trading the Kingslayer for Sansa. It galled him to have to give up his prized prisoner but Sansa was worth it.  It had upset many of his Bannermen, but one man would not make much of a difference if they had to wage war against the Capital and it would prevent anyone from killing Sansa if it looked like Kings Landing would fall.

His mother was now praying to the statues of the Seven that had been brought along for the men who kept the new gods, but he did not know whether she was praying for Arya to be alive or praying that she had had a kind death.

Unfortunately while the negotiations to secure Sansa’s freedom were nearing completion, the rest of the negotiations were unsuccessful. Lord Tyrion had made it quite clear that the Westerlands had no intention of forsaking the city and that his nephew and sister would cling to the crown with all they had. He was unsurprised although this now meant that it looked as though a full scale attack on the city was inevitable if they wished to keep their vows, something that a few Northern Lords had cautioned against. There had been murmurings that once Sansa was theirs they should leave the city and Stannis to their fates, he had even heard some talk of a resurgence of the Kingdom in the North, although he did his best to squash such talk, the economy of the North was stronger with a unified Westeros than if it all split up, as much as he would love to give Lady Margaery a crown.

* * *

 

Sansa had slept fitfully ever since she heard the whispers of a Northron army in the crownlands, even more so since she had seen Lord Tyrion leave to negotiate with the rebels. Sansa did not know the outcome of such talks as Lord Tywin’s youngest son had been sequestered away with him, the Queen and the Small Council as soon as he returned the first day. He had not been seen since although she had seen the.  She had heard of course the rumours, talk of replacing her as Joffrey’s betrothed with a Lady from the east, daughter of a powerful Magister of one of the free cities perhaps or a Lady of Qarth whose denizens ousted the Mother of Dragons and who are purported to crave crowns. Although nothing had come of it. Sansa suspected that was because they were either too busy supporting or opposing the last Targaryen or because an unstable throne in a far off land did not appeal.

She was kneeling in the godswood as the sun began to set, Sansa’s knees ached, her skirts doing little to protect her from the rough dirt. She had been kneeling all day first in the Sept praying at all the alters save the Stranger, whose shrouded face she voided, the way people avoided her.

“My Lady” a rough voice called from behind her. Sansa turned to find herself face to face with Ser Meryn Trant.

“Ser Meryn” Sansa choked out, curtseying. It felt wrong, sacrilegious to see someone who had caused her so much hurt here in her sanctuary, the place of her father’s gods. She knew better however than to speak these feelings and waited for the Knight to make his purpose clear. Perhaps she was to be sent to the king, who would most definitely be fuming that her brother had dared to show his face, to make demands of his royal highness.

“The King and his council wish to see you. I am to escort you to the throne room” his voice grated on her nerves. The deliberate blandness as though he had not torn her clothes from her body to beat her on the whims of a madman wearing a crown. Sansa did not argue though, she only stood dusting herself off and walked past him, trusting that he would follow to ensure she did not run. As though she had anywhere to run to.

As she walked into the throne room Sansa saw that while Joffrey was seated on the Iron Throne, wearing his crown, he lacked most of the courtiers that normally followed him everywhere. In fact the throne room nearly empty, the only other people being the Queen Mother, Lord Tywin and the rest of Joffrey’s Small Council, a few members of his Kingsguard and… Lord Tyrion. Sansa’s nerves which she had wrested under control during the walk from the godswood were suddenly out of control and she stumbled slightly making her way forward. She wondered if the emptiness was a good sign or an ill omen. Perhaps Joffrey intended to do something worse to her than he had so far, something so awful that the people who had stood by and watched her previous denigration would be forced to step in. She was not left to worry for long though as Lord Tywin cleared his throat before launching into an explanation.

“Lady Sansa, you have been called into the Throne room because there is news. Joffrey is setting you aside so that you can be traded for Ser Jaime. Make no mistake this does not mean that your family will be left alone or that the war is over, merely that you will wait out the rest of the negotiations or battle... should Lord Tyrion let it come to that” Lord Tywin’s voice took on a tinge of disdain as his eyes swept over his youngest son. “You will be traded immediately, Lord Tyrion and myself will escort you to your chambers whereupon you will pack your things and be taken outside the city gates where the exchange will take place.” He finished his countenance grim. She wondered how they had convinced the King to go along with this, she was his most prized play thing and a quick glance toward Joffrey showed his unhappiness but he did nothing to stop the proceedings.

Sansa squashed the hope that threatened to rise, this could be a trap. It was probably a trap. They could be walking her to her death.

 

* * *

 

The evening was getting chilly and though no one had told him where they were Jaime recognized the land well enough to know that they were near Kings Landing, near _Cersei_. She had been the only thing he had thought of in months and the knowledge that she was so close was heady, it was also maddening. Walking he could be by her side in an hours’ time, half of that if he had a horse, but instead he sat in a cage surrounded by the filth of Stark’s army. He knew better though then to complain, he was hungry and whilst the food they gave him was little more than scraps it was better than nothing and worth keeping his mouth shut.

His brooding was interrupted when he heard a commotion in front of him. He looked up to see that the guards assigned to him were all ignoring him to watch... Lord Robb and some of his retinue walk toward him. This was certainly a surprise as he had not seen his famed captor since he had been placed in a Riverrun cell. There seemed to be some confusion with the orders the young lord was giving, though no one seemed to be brave enough to countermand their liege. Jaime watched with surprise, although he did not allow it to show on his face as his gaoler unlocked the cage and motioned him out. He refused to ask what was happening, not so far gone as to beg for scraps of information from Ned Stark’s son.

“You’re coming with us, Kingslayer” Robb Stark grinned as he spoke, sounding far happier than Jaime was comfortable with given how close Starks army was to his sister. They walked him, unchained but unarmed through the tents that were being raised and past horses and soldiers that looked like they wanted to spit at him, but didn’t for fear they might accidently spit on their beloved leader. It was only as they passed the tents reserved for the higher lords and gained a shadow of at least a hundred swordsmen that Jaime realized what was happening. They were trading him, for the Stark girls he supposed. It didn’t matter to him as much as the realization that Cersei was within his reach.

They crossed the grassy knoll that seemed to be the decided spot for the swap and Jaime’s heart leapt when he saw the Lannister banners marching towards him. As they got closed Jaime realized that his brother, the unmistakable Imp of Casterly Rock was leading the procession, by his side a red haired girl whom Jaime vaguely recognized, Lady Sansa probably. The parties met and Jaime watched his brother’s eyes narrow at his sorry state. He watched as his brother made the customary courtesies before he was pushed forward slightly. As he and Lady Sansa passed each other on the way to their respective families he wondered why she was alone and not in the company of her wild sister.

 

* * *

 

Lysa sat next to her sister who was staring ahead, her mind obviously elsewhere. She gripped Catelyn’s hand in hers as they waited for Cat’s eldest to be returned. Her sister had said very little since they discovered her youngest daughter was missing and though she and Lord Willas had done their best there was little comfort that could be given. They were taking turns sitting with her and Willas had just returned and took up his place on Catelyn’s other side. She let her sister’s hand go and stood walking over to the table to pour herself a cup of wine. There was a small cough from the entrance of the tent and she raised her head to meet her father’s eyes. He gestured for her to follow him out of the tent, curiosity piqued she did as he bid.

“Your sister’s husband has given her much comfort in the wake of this _distressing news_ ” His voice lowered slightly at the end of his sentence as though he thought that by mentioning his granddaughter’s disappearance in front of Catelyn it would remind her, as if she could ever forget.

“We have been very busy but I wanted to take this opportunity to talk to you about your future” Hoster’s voice was croaky with age but he still held the commanding tone that used to terrify her in her youth.

“What do you mean my future?” Lysa questioned, although she had a bad feeling she already knew the answer to that question. Lysa had made it very clear to her sister and uncle that she would under no circumstances be marrying again, but the message did not seemed to have reached her father. Or perhaps it had and she was merely being paranoid.

“I mean, Lysa you are only thirty name day’s old. Yes you have had fertility issues in the past and your looks are hardly what they were when you married Jon, not that they were ever spectacular, but you are also the Lady Regent of the Vale of Arryn and the daughter of the Lord Paramount of the Riverland’s. You are not without opportunities. Many second son’s would be content to marry you, and surely you do not want to spend the rest of your life alone” he spoke those words as though he thought that was all that would be needed to convince her to tie her life and her future to a stranger. To give up the power that she had waited and worked so hard for, even if it was a temporary sort of power, hers until her son was old enough to rule in his own name. To give up her freedom and become in effect a child relying on the whim’s and kindness or lack thereof of a parent. She knew that her experiences had made her bitter and that her perspective on marriage was blinded by it. Lysa knew that some found happiness and peace and that some men treated their wives as equal, but she had also seen the effects up close when they didn’t. Her and Jon’s marriage was not even the worst case she had seen. Lysa had watched as the most powerful woman in the Realm was beaten and insulted by her husband. It was not, in her mind worth the risk. In this way Catelyn was far braver than her, although she did have more to gain, and lose.

“I will not spend the rest of my life alone, but that does not mean that I will marry again. I am content as I am, I have friends and my son” Lysa kept her voice level as she talked, wary of being written off as a hysterical women if she showed any of the emotion that was coursing through her.

“Lysa, be reasonable. You must marry again, now I have thought of a list of suitable candidates. Perhaps we should begin with those already in the Vale –” Hoster snapped.

“I am being reasonable. I do not need to hear a list of men you deem suitable to marry me. I will not marry again. I have no need to.” She responded, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment as frustration threatened to boil over. Lysa then plastered on a fake smile and turned to leave, walking way with her head high, and her father spluttering behind her.

 

* * *

 

They had been in a stalemate with Kings Landing for a few days, as they readied themselves for either a long siege or an attack on the city. Lady Margaery had spent her morning the same way she had spent most of her day’s since Lady Sansa had been returned to them, sewing with her future goodsister in the morning then spending the afternoon with her and the leaders of the army they were camped in the middle of. She was just heading to the tent where the strategizing was taking place when she saw a small group of men carrying the standard that Stannis Baratheon had chosen for himself.  A smile graced her face, this afternoon just got interesting.

Sansa sat with her brother, goodfather and future goodsister, the Lady Margaery Tyrell, and Ser Davos Seaworth. They were waiting for the remainder of council to arrive so that they may begin strategizing, finally having a representative of Stannis Baratheon so that they may have an accurate idea of his wants, and also his capabilities. Looking at Ser Davos Sansa mused that while he was probably not the most traditional of choices for Hand of the King, being lowborn and illiterate he was loyal and had a good enough head for strategy to have smuggled onions into Storms End while it was besieged by the Tyrell’s. A fact that he did not seem to have forgotten given his somewhat cooler reception to Lady Margaery then to herself or Robb. Although he did maintain a polite civility even if his courtesies were not as polished as they could have been.

There was a scuffle at the door as her Uncle and grandsire tried to enter the tent at the same time although the Lord of the Riverland’s eventually stepped back for the famed Knight. Both men had been kind if slightly distant since she had arrived. Sansa understood they had expected two girls to be traded for the Kingslayer and her mother had not taken the news of Arya’s disappearance well. She had been questioned for hours about when she last saw Arya and where she thought Arya had gone and if she had, whilst in the midst of enemies heard anything or seen anything. Mercy from the questioning came from an unexpected source though, her Aunt had swept in, using her girth to push everyone around her out of her way, and then swept out again with Sansa in her arms.

She had become a confidante, someone upon whom she could lay her burdens. The Lady Regent of the Vale had held her through the nightmares of her time in Kings Landing. Had seen her scars and instead of recoiling with disgust had listened to her stories and shared her own memories of Kings Landing. Although her Aunt had never felt the sting and ache of the flat of a blade she had had her own pain and suffering in the Capital. Sansa heard of how she had been blamed for Jon Arryn’s infertility, and how people had spoken that she was barren, cursed by the gods when her husband had had two wives before her and no living children. When he visited her once a moon, a small blessing.

Her mother’s despair was the only dark spot in Sansa’s freedom. When she first saw her they had hugged each other and sobbed. Her mother and her apologizing over and over to each other, since then though her mother would watch her but say little. Sansa would sometimes wake though, to find her mother staring at her in wonder.

They were only waiting on the Tully sister’s and the Lady Olenna Tyrell, to begin their meeting. Sansa glanced over to Ser Davos, an unassuming man, but one whom the sight of filled her with anxiety. His words would start a fight, a battle that she was not sure they could win. Luckily they did not need to wait for long as the ladies entered in quick succession. Her brother cleared his throat before beginning.

“Thank you all for coming. Ser Davos welcome, I hope your journey to us was pleasant” Robb did not give the onion knight an opportunity to respond one way or the other before he resumed. “We are here to begin planning. Unfortunately talks with the Lannister’s have broken down, luckily after we rescued my sister. Now we have some decision’s to make. Ser Davos, if you will could you share your understanding of what His Grace, King Stannis want’s” Robb finished speaking, taking a seat and squeezing the hand of his betrothed who looked upon him proudly.

“Thank you, my Lord” the Hand of the King, swallowed showing his nerves. “His Grace bid me here so that we might begin planning on how to take Kings Landing from the usurpers” Sansa noted that the Queen of Thorn’s raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips at the term _Usurper’s,_ probably noting as Sansa did that it was the same term that the was used by Targaryen loyalist’s to describe the former king Robert Baratheon.

“He does not wish for a drawn out siege, given that it is likely that it would be the small folk who would suffer and not the Lannister’s, there is also a risk of the Lannister’s finding support from somewhere. He would prefer a two sworded strategy, with him storming from the harbour and your armies taking the city from the field” he spoke somewhat clumsily. It was his mention of potential reinforcements that prompted Sansa to speak, causing all heads to turn towards her.

“I do not know if or when Dorne will send reinforcements, but I do know that they have been stymied so far in their attempts to court alliances with Essos. I mention this only because the fact that they have so far not been able to attract alliances from the eastern powers does not mean that they will not be able to in future. It is another reason though for Stannis to secure his throne.” Sansa kept her voice steady as she spoke, hoping the grave and serious nature of her words would override any instinct to dismiss all she said due to her gender.

“Thank you, Lady Sansa. That knowledge could prove useful to his grace. Do you have any knowledge of where in Essos they have sent offers?” his tone was gentle although his face gave away the worry he felt.

“All I know is what I have overheard from gossip. Talk of a daughter of a magister. Given the commonness of the title I would not be able to guess which free cities they have contacted. There was also a rumour that they were courting a Lady of Qarth, a city far to the east that is known to have dreams of royal titles and has shown enmity towards the last Targaryen” Sansa alleged. There were frowns on most faces in the room, she supposed because though the likelihood of help from the aforementioned quarters was unlikely the risk was troubling. The Lady Margaery and her grandmother shared a smile though, and that piqued Sansa’s curiosity.

“That in itself is disquieting, dear niece. We should not rest on our laurels and take such a risk. I would therefore advocate for a swift taking of the city so that we can be prepared for any _eventuality”_ Lysa’s emphasis was meant, Sansa thought, to remind people of the threat the Mother of Dragons posed without actually saying the words.

“This is all well and good, but we still need to know what our dear leader want’s to happen once we take the city. We ourselves have already decided on a list of demands that need to be followed in order for our swords to provide the support Stannis needs.” The Queen of Thorns snapped. Although her tone and choice of words was no doubt meant to inflame the tension between Stannis’ representative and those who had supported Renly.

“Demands?” though the question was posed with a calm tone of voice the expression on the face of the Onion Knight had grown decidedly cold.

“Grandmother” Lady Margaery hissed, her creamy complexion tinged pink. Luckily her Aunt was there to intervene.

“Demand’s is a strong word. Rather we have some ideas about how the invasion will play out and the immediate aftermath. For example we would prefer” she paused after receiving several heated glances. “Sorry, we would _strongly_ prefer”, her tone of voice leaving no doubt that by prefer she meant _we insist,_ “that all effort is taken to prevent any repeating of the atrocious actions of Tywin Lannister and his lackey’s in Robert’s Rebellion. Whatever happens we would like all involved to receive fair trials” Lysa said, phrasing it like a request although everyone knew it was more akin to the demand that Lady Olenna had described. Luckily Ser Davos did not seem to find the idea disagreeable at all.

“If that’s, all then of course your preferences will be followed. King Stannis has made it clear that anyone caught raping or anything of that sort will be gelded and sent to live out their day’s serving the realm as a member of the Nights Watch. As well, of course his grace will provide all involved with fair, unbiased trials so that the entire realm may see their guilt and know it to be true” Ser Davos seemed content, or at the very least more relaxed then he had otherwise been.

“No, that’s not all.  Lady Sansa’s testimony as to the guilt or innocence of the current rulers of King’s Landing will be given precedence. She will be given the opportunity to recommend punishments for all the accused. We insist on this because as someone who has been made a victim by them Lady Sansa has the best insight into the criminals living in his grace’s castle, given that she was their prisoner for so long. My niece Lady Lysa, Lord Robb, my brother Lord Hoster, my goodnephew Lord Willas or their nominated representative will be named judges to all the trials, with King Stannis of course serving as High Judge.” Ser Brynden’s voice was scratchy, and he motioned for a glass of water after he finished speaking. His words were obviously not as welcome to Ser Davos as Lady Lysa’s had been, but Sansa was glad he had spoken. It was better to have an uncomfortable conversation now then to put someone on the throne that would then dismiss your views and ideas.

“I don’t reckon his grace would have any problems with that” Ser Davos spoke slowly, sounding out each word.

“We are grateful, ser. Now I think it is time to plan exactly how and when we will launch our attack” Robb said, his tone belying the grim nature of their activities. Sansa wondered if she should leave but decided that if anyone thought she would be a security risk they would speak up.  She mulled as she watched her brother and Ser Willas discussing the merits of their respective cavalry whether she would end up bartered as her mother and brother had been to ensure the success of their vengeance.

* * *

 

Her disgusting brother was running around the city trying to get his infernal chain or some such nonsense finished. Cersei sat in the room in the red keep that had been designated for the ladies to wait in while the battle raged. Its emptiness seemed to mock her, showing her a future where she would be alone, surrounded by squawking imbeciles, but alone. It was times like these that her anger over having been so cursed by the gods to inhabit such a weak form was most overpowering. She should be out their fighting, in battle next to Jaime, their gloriousness blinding their enemies in the heat of battle.

Nevertheless, even women had work to do and parts to play. Cersei knew she had to paint a smile on her face and become the demure Queen everyone expected. Especially since her father’s arrival and pushed her out of most of the planning. A situation which forced her to make her own plans. She would not allow her children to die in the ignominy that her predecessor had. She stood and made her way toward the nursery room’s where she had asked, begged really; her son’s to meet her. Cersei only made one stop, ducking into her rooms, leaving her assigned Kingsguard, Ser Meryn waiting outside while she fetched _Tyanna’s Mercy_ , a poison said to have been first created by Queen Tyanna of Pentos, wife and Master of Whisper’s to the feared and reviled King Maegor the cruel.

When she arrived and saw her two boy’s together staring up at her she was so strongly reminded of her love that she did not move for a second. Having them together also reminded her of the traitorous Imp and how he had sold her only daughter to the Dornish snakes for a pittance and a second son. Cersei made her way to the table they sat at without saying a word, glad that her instructions for the honey milk and its accoutrements to be set up away from the main table had been followed. It would be easier this way to slip the cloudy white poison into their drinks.

“Mother. I have a war to win. I do not have time for childish nonsense. I am a King and King’s drink wine and ale not honey milk. I am not a child” her eldest, Joffrey snapped. There was anger in his words, his tone showing off the confidence and stature she had raised him with. He was truly a Lion and her heir more than he ever was heir to the foul drunkard she had been forced to marry. Her second son Tommen sat quietly, having tensed slightly when Joffrey began speaking. He was weak, but she would make him strong. Tommen would survive and learn from his brother how to be a Lannister if it was the last thing she ever accomplished.

“Of course. I won’t take up too much of your time then my love. I just wished to speak with you a moment… to wish you luck” she turned and began pouring the honey milk, adding _Tyanna’s Mercy_ along with some cinnamon into the cup for her Joffrey. She passed it to him and he quickly gulped down half the cup before responding.

“Silly woman, I don’t need luck. I am a skilled swordsman and will no doubt be as successful in battle with Widow’s Wail as father was with his Warhammer.” He finished his cup of milk and tossed it onto the table letting it bounce off onto the ground, standing and walking away from her, gesturing for his kingsguard to follow. Cersei swallowed her bitterness, he was a Lion and she was no sheep. She used the distraction to pour the last of the poison into Tommen’s cup.

“Mother, may I have some milk please” her youngest asked as he stood and picked up the cup that had been discarded by Joffrey. She shook her head and turned, smiling down. Tommen was so like her Jaime sometimes.

“Of course dear”, she said passing him his honey milk, glad that Joffrey had behaved as he had, it had given her the perfect opportunity to slip the poison into Tommen’s milk. She drank her own slowly, enjoying the taste of the northern barley liquor that she had tippled into her cup. _Tyanna’s Mercy_ took almost a day to take effect, although once the symptoms begin to show there is very little time till the Stranger takes you. The antidote, creatively named _Maegor’s Bane_ was a concoction that Cersei personally loved. Though it would cure you if you had been slipped _Tyanna’s Mercy_ , it would only be effectual if given before the symptoms started to show, and if you had not been given any _Mercy,_ then it would kill you itself. A wonderful little contradiction. She sat with her son as long as she could before sending him off to bed, a message with his guards to take Tommen and run if at any point it looks like the battle is not going in their favour. She would remember to keep an eye on Joffrey herself.


	8. Chapter 8

The battle raged outside the tower in which Cersei was trapped. The streets were aflame as knights carved through the city. From where she was, Cersei could not make out sigils, or flags, let alone faces. Cersei had no clue who was winning, the mystery making her grateful she had thought to give her son’s poison. Should the city fall they would die without pain or humiliation. Cersei’s hand brushed her ankle where she was hiding the antidote. Her stomach clenched when she thought of who was out there.  Jaime, dear Jaime who had only just been returned to her and her sweet Joffrey who was leading the vanguard out in the bay. She focused on the memory of her reunion with Jaime to get her through the night.

_Cersei stood in the throne room, surrounded by courtiers, standing with Tyrion, and her father. Her son sat on the throne she had bled for but her eyes were not on him. They remained stuck to the doors. She had not been allowed to meet him in the city, propriety once again strangling her desires. Her brother, Jaime would come through those doors if the Starks kept to their vaunted honour. She would get her lover back._

_The room fell silent in a wave, as the doors opened. The party of Lannister knights entered, they were surrounding one man. He was filthy, his hair matted with a scraggly beard and he was the most beautiful sight. Her twin, half her soul stood before her. It took all the self-control that she had developed during her years as Queen to Robert Baratheon to stop her from running forward and confirming the rumours started by Stannis. He walked forward slowly, skinnier then she remembered. Oh, Cersei would destroy the Stark’s for this. She would tear down Winterfell with her own hands if she had to._

_“Welcome, Uncle. It is good to look upon your face once more and know that you are safe from the traitorous Starks” Joffrey spoke. His words written by her father, a scripted welcome. She wondered what he thought about the rumours. His anger towards the filthy peasant scum when Myrcella’s send-off had been turned into a riot was something to behold. There was a little of Robert Baratheon’s righteous anger in him then, something she did not like, but if all that Joffrey learnt from the man she claimed was his father was that, she would consider herself blessed._

_She rose and walked toward him. It was as if the entire room disappeared._

_“Sister. It is good to see you again” Jaime murmured, kissing her hand._

_“Brother” she replied, with a curtsey. Cersei stood back and watched as he greeted the rest of their family. Her son welcomed him and ordered a feast to celebrate his return, commenting that they had the best end of the bargain with getting rid of the Stark girl and gaining the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard in return. Her brother’s face when he found out he had been named Lord Commander, expressed his shock, but also his pride. He was the best Knight that had ever lived and Cersei would see him rewarded._

A crash sounded, startling Cersei out of her thoughts. Ser Meryn and Ser Adam Marbrand burst through the doors, pushing Tommen in front of them.

“The fighting is dying down” Ser Adam said. “We have brought Tommen here, because it looks like the fight is over”. Ladies began exchanging glances, ladies who would never deign to be civil to their maids were suddenly clutching hands with servants. None of that mattered though. If the fight was over then it meant they had won.

“Come Tommen, do not be afraid. Have some watered wine” Cersei murmured, taking her son and sitting him on her lap. She poured _Maegors Bane_ , into his cup and passed it over, glad that he would not think anything of the slight discolouration. Now she had to find Joffrey and give him his antidote, although Cersei thought, _I have time._ It takes nearly twelve hours for the poison to take effect. She could wait until her son was proclaimed victorious.

The sounds of battle began to grow louder, causing some anxiety to grow in Cersei. Surely though, her father would not lose, they could not lose. The cacophonous noise grew though and grew until you could barely here yourself think, until the cups and tables were rattling in time to the beat of the noise.

“Mother, I’m scared” Tommen cried out, his eyes glossing over with tears. She held him tighter.

“Do not be afraid. You are a Lion and Lions are not cowards” Cersei whispered. She did not care for propriety, holding her cub close to her breast. She sat regally, straightening her back and waiting for her father or Jaime to burst in victorious.

The door fell down, and a man wearing a burning stag rushed in sword raised. Cersei let out a scream.

“Jaime”

* * *

 

The Iron Throne sat amidst chaos. There was destroyed furniture and scorch marks, tapestries lying ripped on the ground. Standing next to the Iron Throne was Stannis Baratheon and the High Septon. His wife and daughter stood further away, next to the Red Priestess whom he followed... It was destruction like Catelyn had never before seen. She wondered if this was what it looked like when Eddard came across the Mad King and the Kingslayer all those years ago. She gripped her husband’s hand, glad suddenly of his injury. He had not left her side to go fight. Her daughter Sansa was standing on her other side. Her hands crossed in front of her, an almost feral smile on her face as she stared at the man they were about to name King.

The high Septon called for quiet, stepping forward.

“I am here today to Crown our new King, King Stannis Baratheon” He spoke clearly, though he had slight distaste in his eyes. Catelyn wondered if that was for the King himself or because of his dedication to Melisandre, the so-called ‘Red Witch’. The high Septon turned to the aforementioned Baratheon, who kneeled he began.

“Do you, Stannis Baratheon pledge to serve these Kingdom’s honestly, faithfully and truly?” The High Septon asked.

“I do so pledge” Stannis replied, his teeth grinding together.

“Do you, Stannis Baratheon pledge to keep the King’s Justice and Laws?” the High Septon continued.

“I do so pledge”

“Then rise, Stannis Baratheon first of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men.  Lord Protector of the Realm." the High Septon exclaimed.

* * *

 

Catelyn walked the halls of the Red Keep in a trance. It was her first visit to the castle, and yet she felt like she knew it already. It had been the scene of the murders of two men she loved and it was the place where her daughter had been brutalised. Sansa, her baby had lived and breathed terror here and while she knew they had to stay to see justice and vengeance wreaked upon those wretched souls all she wanted was to take her babies and run as far and as fast as she could. Stannis could have Kings Landing and all the power he wished as long as she could protect her children.

She still hadn’t managed to brave sitting down with Robb and Sansa to discuss the future, there future. As much as Catelyn would love to be able to live the rest of her life in Winterfell with all her babies, _Arya_ , echoed in her mind but she squashed the thought of her youngest down, she would eventually have to live at Highgarden. Catelyn was sure that her new husband would welcome all her children for as long as they wished to stay but their home would always be Winterfell, at least the boys would be. Sansa would also have to leave Winterfell when she married. Which was something Catelyn hoped could be put off for as long as possible.

It was as she was walking towards the room Sansa had commandeered for herself that she smelt lamb. Her stomach seemed like it was rushing up her throat and she ran for the nearest room throwing herself inside and emptying her stomach onto the stone floor. Looking around she thanked the gods that the room was empty. The dust that covered the surfaces told a tale of abandonment and as she looked at the Targaryen memorabilia and the small bed she realized that she was standing in the room once inhabited by the late Princess Rhaenys. Catelyn backed out of the room slowly, wiping her face with her handkerchief. She hadn’t vomited like that at the smell of lamb, or anything else since carrying Rickon.

_Oh, gods._ Catelyn thought to herself, _I’m pregnant._ The thought made her want to throw up again. She would not be able to put off talking to her children now. The heir to Highgarden and the Reach could not be raised in Winterfell. Catelyn was suddenly overcome by a wave of guilt, she had married Willas to save her children but now they would have to abandon their home or be abandoned by their mother.

 

* * *

 

Catelyn sat in one of the many gardens scattered around the Red Keep. She was sewing a trout on a bed of roses onto a scrap piece of cloth. There was no noise in the garden other than the sound of needles pulling thread. She glanced over at her daughter who was sewing a flaming stag to be made into a cushion for the Crown Princess. They were waiting upon her eldest son, who was just now walking towards them. She was almost violently reminded of her late husband in that moment, even though Robb took after her in his complexion and the colour of his hair but standing with Ice strapped to his back he looked so much like his father that she couldn’t breathe for a moment.

He took his seat.

“What is it that you wanted to speak to us about, mother?” Robb asked. His tone was gentle.

“I wished to talk to you about your future, our futures. We must discuss what are plan’s shall be. I assume that you wish to marry your betrothed as soon as possible?” Catelyn asked, although from the way Robb and Margaery looked at one another she already knew the answer.

“Yes, I, yes. I would like to travel to Winterfell quickly so that we might have time to organize a wedding worthy of Margaery. She will want her brother’s to be there and her grandmother to help organize and you of course, Mother, you know Winterfell in a different way to I and I would be so grateful if you would show it too Margaery. Show her how to run the castle and how to adjust to the North” Robb spoke quickly, his voice filled with affection, not love though. Not yet, but it would come. She knew her son well enough to know that he would find love easily with his pretty southron bride. It was happiness she was concerned with, his and his betrothed’s. The North was a harsh place, cold even to people who had lived there their whole lives. It took strength to survive, even more to thrive. Catelyn hoped the Rose of Highgarden had enough strength.

“I would be honoured to help the next Lady of Winterfell settle into her new home.” Catelyn took a deep breath before continuing. “I also wanted to talk about mine own future, as well as Sansa’s. I will not be able to spend, as I had hoped once upon a time, the rest of my life in Winterfell. Highgarden is to be my home and yet it will not be the home of my children. I do not wish to leave you and you both, as well as Bran and Rickon will always be welcome wherever I live.” Catelyn turned to her daughter. Her stomach roiled.

“I wish I did not have to say this. Sansa, one day Winterfell will be to you what Riverrun is to me. The home of your childhood. You will have to leave it one day and while we are all grateful that that day will not be today or tomorrow it will come. I am sure that Robb will make you welcome in Winterfell until you marry, just as I will make you welcome in Highgarden” Catelyn’s voice shook as she spoke. Her pregnancy ensuring that she knew she would have to move to Highgarden sooner rather than later. She had hoped she would have more time.

“I know my duty, Mother. I know I must one day marry so that I may help further alliances.” Sansa spoke calmly, her eyes filling with tears. Catelyn saw the panic on her son’s face as he lent forward as though he planned to throw himself upon her. “I had only hoped, I just. I wish that Arya could be there with me. Arya and Jeyne, I always thought that I would have them on my wedding day.” Her voice broke slightly as she finished. It was moments like these that Catelyn remembered how young Sansa was. She was only three and ten no matter how mature her time in Kings Landing had made her.

“I have not seen Jeyne since we arrived. Sansa, was she killed with the rest of the household?” Catelyn queried. She hoped Jeyne hadn’t been killed. That she had somehow escaped and made her way North, or South or East or somewhere away from this cesspit.

“No, I don’t know. Maybe, yes. Jeyne was with me when Septa Mordane, bless her soul, barricaded us in my room. When I was taken to see the Queen, sorry the former Queen, Lord Baelish escorted her somewhere else. I have not seen her since that awful day” Sansa whispered. Her cheeks growing wet with tears. Catelyn would never voice aloud the thought that drifted into her mind while her daughter had spoken, _I had thought Sansa and Arya hated one another and would never be sisters as I was with Lysa._ Something that now she was glad for. Her and Lysa had seemed perfect, harmonious, they had seemed like they shared the ideal sisterhood and yet it was not honest. She did not know of her sister’s suffering. They faked happiness together so well that only now looking back did Catelyn see just how awful Lysa’s marriage was, and how miserable she was. Sansa and Arya’s relationship, whilst full of conflict was also full of honesty, and she now saw the truth behind Ned’s words that Sansa and Arya were as different as night and day but that they were pack and would always be there for each other in the important moments.

The rest of Sansa’s statement brought more worry then relief. Jeyne Poole had always been a kind girl and a good friend to Sansa and to here of her disappearance especially in conjunction with Petyr was distressing. It was no secret how Petyr had made his money and what he could want from a young pretty girl. She prayed that he had been truthful when he spoke of his loyalty to her, and hoped that it was not what it looked like, that he had simply hidden the girl away somewhere. Catelyn made a mental note to ask about it during his trial.

* * *

 

Lysa held a torch in her hand as she made her way to the chambers that had been assigned to the noble prisoners, though she doubted that many of them deserved to be called noble. She was making her way to meet with Petyr Baelish and her anxiety was crippling. Lysa needed to make sure he would keep her involvement in the death of Jon Arryn a secret. She knocked on the door of his rooms and waited.

“Come in” Petyr answered. Lysa steadied herself before entering. Petyr was seated at a desk and looked unsurprised to see her.  It was the first time she had laid eyes on him since her flight from Kings Landing and her discovery that he was, and had always been, in love with her sister, or as in love as he was capable of being with anyone other than himself.

“Petyr, you are looking well” Lysa wasn’t lying. He looked surprisingly good for a man who was about to be on trial for well, not defecting to Stannis although they phrased it differently. In all honesty Lysa thought that Petyr would be removed from his position as Master of Coin and that would be the extent of it. He could, and would probably quite successfully argue ignorance or fear of reprisal and after what had happened to Lord Stark no one could deny that.

“Thank you my dear. May I offer you a drink? Some dornish red perhaps or I know you favour an Arbor gold” he gestured to the wine bottles that lined one of the cabinets. Even being punished he did not go without his luxuries. She winced slightly though at the dig about Arbor Gold, it being the wine she had slipped Jon’s poison into.

“No, thank you. I have come to wish you luck in your upcoming trial. I am sure that you will be found innocent, although just in case I will pray tonight to the gods for you” Lysa stated.

“I am grateful for your prayers, sweetling. I am sure that having such a _devout_ woman as yourself pray to the gods for me will ensure they are merciful and just.” Petyr smirked as he spoke, his emphasis no doubt to ensure that she was aware that he was relying on more than her prayers.

“Of course, we are friends, no – family and I would never let family suffer if there is something I could do about it. Family, duty, honour” She smiled tightly. Lysa was glad they had reached something of an understanding, unstated as it was. She would help him retain his freedom and businesses and in return he would keep his mouth shut.

“It has been lovely speaking to you Petyr” Lysa lied through her teeth, before rising and walking quickly out, ignoring his goodbye. She shut the door behind her with a slam. Lysa’s hands gripped the stone work behind her as she leant against the wall blinking back tears. She felt so stupid. Lysa had killed for Petyr Baelish and he had never given any thought to her other than as a patsy to use in order to move up the social chain, and now she had to ensure he won his trial or he would pull her down with him. Lysa wiped her face off and took a deep breath, _you have survived worse,_ she told herself, _and this is only the beginning of your story_.

* * *

 

The sun had barely risen over the city of Kings Landing when an old man walked through the Dragon Gate. He was an unremarkable sight, especially given the recent destruction in the Riverland’s had caused mass migration. He wore a hair shirt and his feet were bare. If anyone had been looking they would have noticed that many of the peasants walking into Kings Landing were following him. Men and women of all ages entered the city. The only uniting factor’s being they were all without shoes, wore the harshest of clothing and had the seven pointed star burned into their clothes.

* * *

 

Jutta of the Westerlands was tired and hot. She had been working since nightfall the day before and could not wait until it was time for another girl to take over her place. Jutta had been working at the brothel since she was sixteen having travelled to Kings Landing with her husband to seek out a better life he had since been killed in the riots when that princess was sent away. So Jutta had found refuge in this brothel and while whoring wasn’t what she had envisioned for herself when she was a child it was not the worst way to make a living in the cesspool she now called home. Although she had heard horror stories from other whorehouses down flea bottom way. It was hard work though and she didn’t often or ever get a choice in the customers she took. It was why she was dancing now dressed as the Crone for the High Septon’s pleasure. If her mother saw her now, she would yell and scream and beat Jutta bloody.

When she first lost her husband Jutta tried getting all sorts of work, praying night and day to the Crone for guidance, she looked down on the women that rented their bodies out to fill their stomach’s, however it wasn’t until those very women welcomed her into their home that she might have a place to lay her head and a meal to fill her stomach after she was kicked out of the rooms she had rented because the work at the docks had dried up that she understood how unfairly she had judged them. Jutta had been devout to the teachings of the faith of the seven until that night when she had seen the moral leader of her faith, the voice of the gods visit the brothel and not to save any souls. It was what had brought her here, to this place hoping she would not get picked by this corrupt, filthy man.

Screams suddenly filled the air as the door to the chamber they were in burst open, men with the seven-pointed star carved into their foreheads rushed in pushing her and the other’s aside grabbing the High Septon. The leaders – or who Jutta assumed were the leaders dragged the leader of the faith out into the street, she could see from the window she had been pushed into that they had stripped him of his finery and left him naked in the street. The sound of the men and women behind her destroying the whore house, _her home,_ was cacophonous. She heard one of them scream “Whore” and turned her head to face them only to see a bedpost swing towards her. Suddenly all she could feel was blinding pain, Jutta raised her hand to her head and it was wet. Her vision blurred then everything was surrounded by a tunnel getting smaller and smaller.

* * *

 

Stannis sat as he had seen his brother do perhaps once a year at the head of his Small Council, to his right sat Ser Davos, his hand, to his left was Melisandre and his Queen, Selyse. The rest of the chairs remained empty. He knew that he would have to fill most of those chairs with people who had helped him win the battle for Kings Landing.  _Fortunately_ for him they seemed to have already decided who got what seat. Stannis would fight it but honestly he did not care enough to. They all seemed moderately capable of the seats they aimed for and if they were not he could get rid of them in a year or two. His main concern was the man standing before him, High Septon. He spun a tale of humiliation, talking about how he had been attacked and brutalised. It galled Stannis that he had to sit here and listen to this man, like they all did not know he had been at a brothel. He ground his teeth as he waited for the man to finish his sob story, although he did not know if he should call the High Septon a man, he was more like a wilted cabbage, weak and watery.

Beside him Melisandre leant forward.

“Describe these assailants again for me” she simpered, appearing to pity the wretch. He watched as she played him for a fool, Stannis knew better though. Melisandre already knew the answer to her question having already heard the stories from eye witnesses. Stannis himself was disinclined to help the man that stood in front of him given just how much money was owed to the faith, or more accurately would be more inclined to help if they could lessen some of the crown’s financial burdens but the High Septon had not seemed like to do so, or at least he would not do so without a portion of money headed to his own purse.

“These fanatic radicals must be dealt with at once, my Lord” Melisandre spoke, his wife nodding along. Stannis wondered why she was so interested in helping the High Septon, when not long ago she was passionately decrying him and the faith of the seven as sacrilege to the one true god R’hllor.

Perhaps though she recognized the corruption and thought this man would make it easier for her to convert the masses of Kings Landing to the Lord of the Light. He noticed the man’s eyes traveling along Melisandre’s body and had to restrain himself from gagging. The man had no decorum and Stannis thought it might be good for the sept if a less corrupt man were leading it.

“Thank you, High Septon. I will deal with the issue” Stannis dismissed the man, glad that he had no religious leaning’s one way or the other.

Melisandre and Selyse were fuming, though they kept their tempers in check. He had gone against the advice of the priestess and instated the man who called himself the High Sparrow as High Septon. Already Stannis was seeing the good that the new High Septon was doing. Three brothels’s in less than a day had been ransacked and destroyed, two of which belonged to Petyr Baelish. He had only been king for a week, and already had achieved more in eradicating social dysfunction than his brother had in more than a decade. The former Small Council, and the Lannister’s were still a thorn in his side, however and organizing the trials was taking longer than he would like.

* * *

 

 “Decision’s need to be made about Robert and Joffrey’s small council” Ser Davos announced. The respective Lords and Ladies from the Northern Alliance and the Reach sat around a table with the new ruling family, the Crown Princess by her father’s side. Catelyn in all honesty cared little for what happened to most of the Small Council; her focus was on the trials of the Lannister’s and Petyr Baelish.

“With regard to the former Master of Coin, I would suggest that the esteemed judges make an inquiry as to the disappearance of Jeyne Poole, Sansa’s companion from Winterfell. She was last seen being escorted to an unknown location by Petyr, and given his business’s I am concerned” Catelyn said. He hated that it had come to this, that she was suspecting Petyr of such vile atrocities. At one point he had been a brother to her, beloved by her.

“That is concerning, and something that should be investigated. Other than that though what sins have the former council members committed, other than the sin of ignorance. They had no way of knowing about the treason perpetrated by the former queen” Lysa spoke quickly and her words brought Catelyn a sense of disappointment. Did Lysa really want to sweep an innocent girl’s life under the rug?

“Quite. However you do raise a good point, My Lady. They will lose their places on the small council but if they are found innocent of knowledge of Cersei’s treason there is no reason for punishing them. Replace them on the council and move on to the more serious trials is my advice” Willas offered, a charming smile on his face. Catelyn could see how much it galled the King to have to listen to a Tyrell, after the Renly debacle and the siege of Storms End; she could hear his teeth grinding from where she sat.

“So be it. I will announce my new Small Council once all the trials are over. Dismissed” Stannis intoned, abruptly ending the meeting. Catelyn was suddenly passionately glad that neither she nor Willas had been put forward to serve the new King.

* * *

 

Catelyn stood in front of the fire in the room’s she shared with Willas. He was sitting at his solar writing letters to Highgarden, updating them on what was happening. She had missed two moon bloods now and only her distaste for the Grand Maester kept her from confirming what she knew to be true.

“Willas, there is something I need to tell you” Catelyn turned towards her husband, watching as he placed his quill down on the parchment. It would be lovely she thought if her child had his hair, she imagined a tuft of soft chestnut curls and river blue eyes.

“Yes, My Lady” he prompted after a moment. Catelyn smiled tightly, before readying herself. _This is not a bad thing_ , she told herself, _it is your duty and you have done it._ There was still a part of her that felt like she was betraying Eddard however much she tried to quash that ridiculous notion.

“I think –, I mean, I am almost certain. I am with child” she spoke slowly, trying to find the right way of telling her husband the news. Catelyn realized though that she needn’t have been worried. Willas lit up, a giant smile appearing on his face. He rushed forward and picked her up swinging her around. He then suddenly put her down.

“I am so sorry. Shouldn’t you be on bed rest? Have you seen a Maester yet? Do you need food, or should I get you a chamber pot” his panic made her smile.

“I am fine, I am only a few moon’s along I can still do everything like normal. No, I haven’t seen a Maester yet, the only Maester I know in the Red Keep is the Grand Maester and he will not be going anywhere near my cunt if I have anything to say about it. I don’t need anything right now, although I am glad that you are happy” she smiled at Willas.

“Happy, I am thrilled. I can’t wait to be a father. I don’t care about anything else” he smiled back and clasped her hands. His happiness made him look years younger. Catelyn was glad she could give her husband this.

“You know that there is a good chance the baby will be born in Winterfell, if we are to attend your sister’s wedding” she asked softly. This was what Catelyn was most nervous about; if Willas wanted to he could demand they leave for Highgarden right away.

“Of course. I do not mind where my baby is born, after all Robb was born in Riverrun and he is a fine Lord of Winterfell. Our plans do not have to change” he smiled softly, as he placed his hands on her belly.


	9. Chapter 9

Tyrion stood and allowed his hands to be chained together. He was the first of his family to be tried and had no idea what sort of debacle he was walking into. Tyrion was thankful he had been put in a separate cell, away from his family. Cersei’s screams had been horrific enough to listen to for the hour they were all together. They had managed to keep Joffrey’s death a secret for fear that Tommen would receive whatever punishment would have been allotted to his older brother. His body had been placed in one of the bedchambers and they claimed he had taken to his bed out of grief. It was a miracle they had been able to stifle Cersei’s cries though of rage and guilt. In truth he felt little sorrow at the death of his nephew but Cersei, awful though she might be was his sister and he had a duty to her. He would do everything he could to ensure his remaining nephew and niece survived this. Tyrion hope Prince Doran would keep his promise and protect Myrcella, even if she was declared a bastard.

He walked with his head held high, it was already lower than most men, there was no need to exacerbate the issue. When he arrived he saw a full court had been assembled. Stannis sat on the Iron Throne flanked by the Red Witch and his hand. The High Septon’s chair was filled by someone he didn’t recognize, wearing roughspun robes. Stannis certainly hadn’t waited before putting his people into place. There was no way that a man who dressed with that dedication to piety was picked by anyone other than the new King. The Tully sisters sat with the Tyrell faction, Lord Robb conversing with his goodbrother. There was disdain on their faces, on all the faces he could see. Lords and Ladies who once scraped and bowed in vain for his time looked upon him as though he were the living incarnation of a sack of shit. Once face he could not find amongst sea of glares was Sansa Stark. Lady Sansa the only Stark or Tully he knew that had ever looked at him with anything other than that offensive mix of disdain and pity.

Tyrion banished her from his thoughts. He could not rely on the hope of goodwill from one who had been a prisoner to his family, even though he had tried to protect her. _You are a dwarf anyway, what kindness could one such as you expect from a girl who looks like that._ He was distracted from wallowing in self-pity when he heard a bell being rung.

“Order. We are gathered here today for the trial of Lord Tyrion Lannister. We need to determine if he was aware of the treasonous incest perpetrated by our former queen, and if so decide on what punishment would be appropriate for aiding and abetting treason. Your family have been called to witness the trial and should be being escorted here momentarily” Stannis growled, his voice echoing throughout the cavernous room. The silence stretched on and he saw Stannis getting more and more impatient waiting for the guards to bring forth the rest of the Lannister’s. For Tyrion’s part he began to fidget, until a scream was heard from the back of the room. _Cersei, classy as always_. He turned expecting to see his haughty sister shrug off the hands of a guard.

Tyrion was wrong, and horrified. He watched the corpse of his nephew get dragged in with Cersei clawing trying to get it back. She wore a gown worth a larger sum of gold then most people in Westeros would ever see in their lifetime, beautiful in her madness. Her hair knotted and more like a true Lions Mane then he had ever seen it before. Jaime wrapped his arms around her, holding her back. Kevan had his hand on Tommen’s shoulder. Tommen who was so young had tears dripping down his face. Tyrion could barely look at the boy and so turned his eyes to his father, who was burgundy though from fury or humiliation Tyrion could not tell you.

“What on earth is going on” Stannis demanded, baring his teeth. Although it was patently obvious what was happening. There were horrified gasps around the room as people stood up to see the body of their former King. Violent narcissist though the boy had been, he was a boy and the sight of a twelve year olds body seemed to shake most in the room. A few ladies fainted though Tyrion thought wryly that it was probably more for show.

“Joffrey is dead. I thought I told you that no one was to be harmed. We have trials for a reason” Fury was pouring off Stannis in waves, you could see his teeth grinding together although most of the eyes in the room were firmly turned away from him and toward the spectacle in the back of the room.

“Remove the body and have someone call for the Silent Sister’s” Stannis boomed. The guards moved quickly and once Joffrey’s body was out of sight Cersei’s mad wails had quieted to sobs. Her grief was all encompassing, and wild.

“Now then, Lord Tyrion of the House Lannister. Do you understand the charges laid against you” Stannis said in an attempt to bring order to the chaos Joffrey’s body had wrought.

“I do” Tyrion replied, a bitter grin on his face. He understood everything though he wished he had the oppourtunity to drink that understanding away.

“Do you swear on the Seven-pointed Star, that all the testimony you give today will be true, that you will not conceal any knowledge from the court.” Stannis continued, a Septon Tyrion had never met before bringing forth a copy of the Seven-pointed Star for him to swear on.

“I do” Tyrion vowed.

“Then let us begin. Lord Tyrion you stand accused of having aided and abetted the treason committed by the Queen, Lady Cersei of the House Lannister and Ser Jaime of the Kingsguard. How do you plead, remembering you swore to the gods a vow of honesty” Stannis droned. Tyrion took a moment before answering, noticing how tightly the Red Witch was squeezing her lips together. She was beautiful, and so very different from the only other follower of the Red God Tyrion had ever met, the priest Thoros of Myr. Perhaps she wanted Tyrion  to swear upon her god.

“I plead not guilty. Though this trial is a farce and we all know it. You have no proof of your claims. Not sharing a hair colour is not proof of infidelity and you know it. Your brother however was constantly fucking outside his marriage vows, whoring around with every maid, Lady or commoner he came into contact with” Tyrion knew he was doomed but he was not going to go quietly. He would not be the only one humiliated in this farce. “Or are you only trying to shift the eyes of history off of the man with _fourteen bastards_ so there will be no resistance to your unlawful seizure of the throne.” Tyrion finished, pasting a smug smile onto his face.  Cracks were beginning to form in Stannis mask of indifference, cracks Tyrion knew how to exploit.

“The act of treason is not being debated here, merely your knowledge of such an event” Stannis ground out. Tyrion wondered how long it would take with Stannis as king before his teeth were ground to nothing.

“I have no knowledge of any treasonous activity. If such activity took place, which it did not.” Tyrion made sure to keep denying the incest although he knew it was futile. The hair colour could be written off as the ramblings of an ambitious second son but Ned Stark’s death and the fact that they were trapped meant that even if it had been a lie, everyone would believe it,  or everyone would pretend to believe it which ensured the same end result.

“You did not know that your sister and brother were continuing the Targaryen tradition. You were unaware you were supporting a bastard born of incest who had no claim to the throne when Roberts true heir had declared himself” Stannis spat, leaning forward to glare down at Tyrion. Fortunatly Tyrion was used to people glaring down at him, and after Tywin Lannister, Stannis Baratheon was nothing.

“I did not, and still do not have any knowledge of the alleged treason. I supported my nephew, _your nephew_ as King –” Tyrion began.

“He is no nephew of mine. That monster is no nephew of mine. Robert fathered no trueborn children and neither did Renly. I have only bastard nephews and nieces” Stannis roared, standing up, his frame vibrating with wrath.

“Imp. I cannot prove you knew anything, but I will burn before I allow any Lannister to profit of this travesty. No man, woman or child holding the name Lannister will ever rule Casterly Rock again” Stannis declared. The shock left Tyrion speechless. Casterly Rock was his, by the laws of gods and men. Jaime had taken vows not to hold lands and Tyrion was Tywin’s heir. The court was so silent you could hear a pin drop. Stannis sat back down again, seemingly impervious to the glare Tyrion was sending his way. Stannis wiped his brow.

“With my duty as king to be just and fair I cannot execute you or exile you or send you to join the Night’s Watch against your will but that does not mean that I will simply allow you to walk away. Many people might think you dull or underestimate the threat you could pose simply because you are a dwarf but I am not so short-sighted” Stannis took a breath then. Tyrion wondered at how this man who so despised his family had given him a larger compliment then his father ever had.

“Fortunately Lady Sansa spoke in your defence so I have decided to send you as a hostage to Dorne. You circumstances in Sunspear will depend entirely on your behaviour and the feelings of the Martell’s” Stannis smiled grimly. Tyrion felt as though his stomach had just fallen through his legs. It was better news then he had expected but it was still terrifying. The Martell’s would not hurt Myrcella as she was a child and a girl besides. After what happened to Princess Elia and her children they would not dare be named hypocrites by doing the same. Tyrion on the other hand was fair game. Still it was nice to think that Sansa had spoken for him, spoken well enough that he was not for the hangman or the wall.

“You will be sent to Dorne on the morrow” Stannis announced, dismissing him and the rest of the court.

 

* * *

 

Catelyn was sitting in a sun-room sewing a golden rose onto a blue blanket. Her sixth pregnancy had been pretty easy so far, with only light morning sickness at certain smells. She looked away from the blanket for a moment when she heard someone enter, pricking her finger.

“Ow, codswallop” Catelyn swore, wiping her finger on a spare piece of cloth.

“I am sorry, Sister. I did not mean to startle you” Lysa apologised, wringing her hands. Catelyn frowned slightly before clearing her face. She had been distant with her sister since the discussion of Petyr Baelish as she couldn’t quite understand why Lysa, who had been taken in more than anyone could defend him. She pursed her lips, but gestured for Lysa to sit.

“It is of no concern. Please join me, I am embroidering a blanket” Catelyn said. Lysa sat down and pulled a piece of embroidery out from a box a servant had placed next to her.

“I want to talk to you about Petyr” Lysa announced, stilling Catelyn’s fingers. They had been sewing in silence for a few minutes and she had wondered if Lysa were ever going to bring up the mammoth in the room.

“What is there to talk about. You seemed quite happy to ignore his faults to the detriment of an innocent. What more is there to say” Catelyn sniped. She would feel guilty over the hurt look on her sisters face had it not disappeared quickly to be replaced by blankness and were it not for her daughters closest companion. Jeyne Poole may not have been the daughter of anyone powerful but that did not mean she was not important.

“There is quite a bit to say, Sister dear.” Lysa snapped back. She seemed to be steadying herself although for what Catelyn could not guess.

“I have a confession to make, and it is this confession that caused me to speak on Petyr’s behalf, or more accurately it is Petyr’s knowledge of what I am about to confess to you, that prompted my defence of him against my better intentions. I was unhappy for many years, alone in this wretched place, blamed for my husband’s inability to father children, or for his almost barrenness. He was married twice before me and yet I was the one whispered about, people muttered that I had been cursed by the gods, and I suppose I must have been in some way for it was not only strangers and enemies that claimed such things. Jon thought my womanhood made me silly or ignorant or something and as such did not know how obvious he made his disdain for me. He blamed me for our babes bleeding out, I heard him pray to the gods to lift the curse they had placed upon me for the sins in my youth, not for my sake but for his so that he could have an heir. Even after Robert was born I knew how much he despised that he had to marry someone tainted. I despised him in turn, despised him for making me hate myself. I despised him for how he treated me and for his _honour._ His _honour_ that would not allow him to speak ill of his king or to care for any of Robert’s bastards but that allowed him to rape a fourteen year old child. His honour allowed him to bed me though I was unwilling because we were married, because we had spoken in front of a Septon he could lie on top of me his putrid breath in my face while I cried. I despised his weakness and his blindness. I despised him and the only person who saw how awful he was, was Petyr. He was the only one. I was alone and desperate and he found a way out for me. I thought Petyr loved me, I loved him enough that I was able to fool myself though now it is obvious that he is incapable of loving anyone more than himself. Sometimes I doubt if he is able to love anyone at all.” Lysa ranted. Catelyn sat in shock, it had been years since she had heard her sister speak so much to her in one sitting, let alone one breath and it looked like she wasn’t finished.

“I had had enough. I killed him, with tears of Lys. It is a clear poison with no taste or smell. A merciful death for an unmerciful man. I killed him and Petyr knows and if I let him fall, if I had let him go  down he would have dragged me with him. I know how selfish it is, to place myself and my son above that girl. It was a choice and maybe you think I chose wrong but now you know why.” Lysa finished. Throughout her speech she had remained defiant, it was only now that she finished speaking that she hung her head. Catelyn watched in silence as a tear dripped onto Lysa’s embroidery. 

It was a lot to take in, although it cleared a few things up. The Lannister’s were not responsible for Jon Arryn’s death although unless she spoke up Stannis would no doubt place that blame on their shoulders. It was no concern of her’s though some, her late husband included would say it was her duty to spill this terrible secret, Lysa was her sister and her family and she could not do such a thing, not after having been faced with the suffering that prompted such an awful choice. It may not even be brought up, as it would be impossible to prove anything. The Lannisters might have motive but that alone would not convict them and Jon Arryn had been old.

Catelyn kneeled before her sister and clasped Lysa’s hands in hers.

“Do not cry little sister, there is no danger here. I will not endanger you by spilling your secret. I understand why now, you spoke for Petyr and whilst I will do what I can for Jeyne I will not endanger you to do so.” Catelyn murmered, squeezing her sisters hand. She rose again and returned to her seat, picking up her needle to resume sewing.

“Let us move on to more pleasant topics. Will you travel with us to Winterfell for Robb’s wedding? I wish for it to occur before winter truly arrives but I am not overly hopeful. Perhaps a wedding in difficult times will be good luck for them though.

“I would be honoured to. I am sure that with your help and the Tyrell matriach’s abilities it will be a wedding to remember. Speaking of weddings, do you know if Princess Myrcella will still marry Prince Trystane? I have not heard anything of Dorne since Lord Tyrion was sent as a hostage” Lysa asked, skilfully moving the conversation to safer waters.

“I do not know. I know that Tyrion was sent to appease Dorne for Myrcella’s value has decreased somewhat since her parent’s crimes have come to light. I suppose it will depend on what Dorne wishes and whether Myrcella is declared a bastard.” Catelyn replied.

The sunset was beautiful , and when Catelyn and Lysa left for the evening meal it was with a bond stronger than either of them could remember.

 

* * *

 

Cersei stood unchained next to her brother, on trial in a room where she had once wielded power that the rats watching her could only dream of. They  judged her, called her a whore but she was a Lion and would not let these vermin destroy her dignity the way they were trying. She had been standing for an hour while the self-proclaimed King, Stannis ranted about her treason and called her a Jaime’s love, filth. When his wife was so ugly not even he could bear to fuck her.

“Given your treason you ought to lose your heads, and as much as I wish for you two to be disgraced and executed the same way Ned Stark was. However I do not wish to start my reign with blood on my hands, or for anyone to be able to turn you into martyrs.” Stannis intoned. This statement was the first thing he had said so far that Cersei took any interest in. _Maybe, perhaps_ she thought to herself, _maybe my children will be spared._ It was this that she focused on as Stannis finished his statement.

“Lady Cersei, I strip you of your nobility and the Baratheon name. I sentence you to live out your days where your poisonous tongue can do no harm. You will join the silent sister’s in penitence for your gross mockery of the gods” Stannis announced gravely. Cersei could not breathe, _gross mockery of the gods, you have your red whore next to you and you talk to me about mockery of the gods. My marriage was a mockery of the gods_ she wanted to scream, but she remained silent. It was better than death and any lack of cooperation on her part could lead to Tommen and Myrcella’s deaths, that is if the Dornish snakes had not already killed her.

There were gasps, though of anger or relief she did not know, from the galley where her family sat. Tommen with his grandfather, her Uncle Kevan and cousins, all here to watch her shame. The golden twins of Lannister indeed. Thinking about it her punishment was the best thing that could have happened. It took time to take the vows of a Silent Sister, time that could be used to escape from wherever they sent her, time to protect her family. _The Valonqar would not kill her, or her babes. Tyrion would not leave her with golden shrouds instead of babes._

Stannis turned to her brother and she prayed that Jaime would hold his tongue.

“Kingslayer, nearly two decades ago you swore the vows of the Kingsguard to Aerys Targaryen. You vowed obedience, chastity and loyalty. To honour and protect your king. You have broken all of these vows in countless ways. You killed Aerys though you had vowed to protect him, you fucked Robert’s wife though you had vowed to honour him, and to be chaste. You fucked his wife despite her being your sister. You are despicable, the worst knight I have ever had the displeasure of coming across. You led a kingsguard full of men who were glad to beat an innocent child. I would execute you gladly were it not for the fact that it would be a waste. You will be sent North to serve the Night’s Watch, to live out your days serving the realm you have failed” Stannis’s speech was angering and she could see Jaime tense beside her, readying himself for a fight. Fortunatly he kept his mouth shut, after she saw him glance over towards Tommen.

“You will be joined by your former brothers in white. Ser Meryn Trant, Ser Boros Blount, Ser Osmund Kettleblack and Ser Balon Swann will join you at the wall. On the testimony of Lady Sansa of the House Stark, Sandor Clegane has been dismissed from the Kingsguard and allowed to go free. The fate of your bastard daughter’s shield Ser Arys Oakheart shall be left with the Princes of Dorne” Stannis finished. Ser Arys’s fate made Cersei wince. The Oakhearts were not friends of Dorne and whatever punishment they thought up would no doubt be worse than the Nights Watch.

 

* * *

 

Catelyn was tired, and hungry. This pregnancy, while relatively smooth sailing was still a pregnancy and her body was older than it had been for previous pregnancies. She had talked to Willas and now that she was beginning to show it was time to tell her children. Willas had agreed to tell his family separately. Catelyn had asked Robb, Sansa and Lysa to meet her here and would send a letter to Maester Luwin so her boy’s would not be blindsided when they arrived in Winterfell. It was nerve racking though, and she was not as young as she had once been. This pregnancy could kill her, a fact she was all too aware of after her mother’s death.

She sat in the garden she had commandeered for the talk. It was beautiful and Catelyn distracted herself from her nerves by admiring it. Cersei had been a horrible queen, disloyal and cruel but you could no deny that she had taste, in flowers at least if not in bed partners. Catelyn wondered in Cersei’s new life as a member of the Silent Sisters would give her any opportunities to create beauty.

She was interrupted from her musings by the sound of laughter. Lysa and Sansa walked arm in arm, cackling together. It brought a smile to Catelyns face, it had been too long sine either of them expressed pure joy. Robb was following them a faint pink tinge on his face. They sat down at the chairs that had been set out for them, and looked at her expectantly.

“I asked you all to meet me here because I have some important news that I wish to share with you.” Catelyn explained. Her stomach was in knots. The news she had to share was joyous and yet it was terrifying to voice it. Perhaps because it made real the end of the part of her life lived in the North. Mayhaps because it forced her to acknowledge that she was a Tyrell now, carrying the heir to the heir to Highgarden, or perhaps it was terrifying because she feared the reactions of her children, feared they would feel like she was betraying Eddard in an unforgivable way. Even if they didn’t feel that way it spelled the end of their lives together.

“I am with child” Catelyn said quietly. Silence met her revelation, there was shock on the faces of family and no one spoke.

“Congratulations” Lysa cried suddenly, jumping up to hug her. She was squeezed tightly in her sisters embrace, and as a tear slipped down her face she felt warmth as she was embraced by her children. They stayed hugging each other as the sun slipped down in the sky. It was Sansa who broke the hug, stepping away as she wiped her eyes, prompting Robb and Lysa to do the same.

“I am so happy for you. This is a new beginning, for us all” Sansa smiled, Robb echoing her sentiments. Sansa suddenly clapped her hands together.

“We have so much to do to prepare. Will you still be traveling with us to Winterfell? We must order materials for clothes and blankets” Sansa exclaimed, her excitement palpable. It seemed she would latch onto the idea of a new sibling to distract her from the recent horrors of her past.

 

* * *

 

 “So we are decided then. A ransom of a thousand golden dragons will be payed to anyone who return’s Arya safely?” Catelyn asked, to clarify. She was standing in front of the half-filled small council, her son at her left. The men on the council nodded at her. Though he had shown distaste Stannis had eventually agreed to all their suggested appointments. Looking at the assembled group now she was glad she was not sitting on the council. Lord Paxter, she had heard did not feel as though he had receive a welcome worthy of his stature, both as Lord of the Arbor and Master of Ships. Luckily her sister’s choice Ser Ivor Grafton was more peaceable. He had brought with him Lady Myranda Royce who sat in a chair at the back of the room taking notes.

“Yes, yes. That is fine, the real decision is who will pay such a sum should the Lady Arya be returned” Lord Paxter responded.

“Winterfell will” Catelyn answered coldly. Her daughter was missing and they wanted to discuss money. She did not, in truth like Lord Paxter, he was a vain of his titles and rank and felt that because he was cousin to the Lord of the Reach he should be treated as though he himself was a Lord Paramount. She also knew he had been displeased at the thought of a Lady sitting in for Small Council meetings, and had given Lady Myranda strife when his complaints had been ignored.

Still, it would not do for future vassals to have complaint against her so she plastered a smile on her face turning to Lord Paxter.

“How are you finding being Master of Ships. I understand that whilst my brother travels from Riverrun you have taken on some of the duties of Master of Coin, a difficult task indeed if what I have heard about the mess the scoundrel that was the previous Master of Coin left is true” Catelyn simpered.

“It is trying no doubt , my Lady, though I am succeeding in untangling Petyr Baelish’s knots. How is that poor girl?” Lord Paxter asked smarmily. She doubted he cared one way or the other about Jeyne Poole but he knew she did and it was a good way to steer the conversation away from Petyr’s skill at bookkeeping.

“She is better than she was, glad that Petyr has been exiled and cannot hurt her anymore. My daughter Sansa has been a great comfort to her, as Jeyne has been a comfort to Sansa” Catelyn answered. In truth she did not want to give detail about how Jeyne was faring, she feared it could ruin any shred of hope for a decent marriage for the poor dear.

“Speaking of unfortunate victims of the crimes of adult’s, what are we going to do with the youngest of Cersei’s spawn?” Lord Paxter asked, moving the conversation and getting the attention of the rest of the room.

“Declare him a bastard?” Catelyn suggested.

“Of course, but once we have done that…” Lord Paxter replied dismissively. He did raise a good point though, Tommen could not be allowed to go free with no restrictions, whilst he had committed no crime himself he remained a threat to Stannis’s reign, and the reign of his heir presumptive. There were many who would if given the choice prefer a male to sit on the Iron Throne.

“We thought perhaps a Septry or the Citadel” Catelyn voiced the plan that the leaders of the coalition had thought up back in Riverrun. “We did not know which Tommen would prefer however. Perhaps you may have some insight, your grace?” Catelyn questioned. Stannis’s face showed his displeasure at being asked such a question but as he had thought he was Tommen’s uncle for so long he would have the most insight out of everybody as to what would make him happy.

“Let him become a Maester. I doubt the Faith will accept a child born of such sin. He has only seen eight name days though and he will need to be fostered somewhere, with people who will not use him to displace me or Shireen” Stannis snapped. Raising though a good point, Tommen needed a home, and someone to support him through his study in the Citadel.

“I’ll take him” Catelyn blurted out. All heads turned towards her, and she blushed before expanding on her thought.

“I have experience raising children and I worked hard to ensure the rightful king sat on the throne. Highgarden is near enough to Oldtown and it would be good practice for Willas and I given that I am currently carrying his child.” Catelyn explained. The more she spoke the better the idea seemed. It was perfect, and it would take that poor boy away from Kings Landing and give him an opportunity to rid himself of the shame Cersei’s sins had attached to his name.


	10. Chapter 10

Lysa had heard the fights that had echoed throughout the red keep for days. Casterly Rock was still a blemish on Stannis record as King. It stood, still held by Lannister supporters although with its Lord currently hostage in Kings Landing it would be a matter of time until it was handed over. The problem was once that happened no one knew exactly what to do with it. There were suggestions of assigning it to a loyal vassal or to the castellans, the same way Highgarden was following the destruction of the Gardener line. The problem was the Lannister line was hardly destroyed. Even if all the living members of Tywin’s line, or Tytos’s line were do magically die there would still be Lannisters who could make a claim, making anyone else’s hold on the castle shaky. This was especially true once you took into account how loyal the Westerlands were to the Lannisters, who were very good administrators of their lands.

She walked into the Small Council chambers were a meeting had been called by the King to discuss the issue. Lysa was called as the representative of the Vale; the only Kingdoms who were not represented at this table were Dorne and the Iron Islands. The Iron Islands were not involved but she wondered if Stannis realized how risky ignoring Dorne could be.

As the last person to arrive there was only one seat available, between the Red Priestess and nephew, who was there representing the North.

“Thank you for joining us my Lady” Stannis ground out, his displeasure obvious. It was probably immature but Lysa did so enjoy riling up the king. His reactions made all the more enjoyable now that he finally had the crown he thought would grant him happiness.

“You are most welcome, your grace” Lysa curtseyed as she spoke, before sitting down, riling up the King even more. His well-known distaste for pleasantries coming to the fore.

“We are here to discuss what to do with Casterly Rock. Who to give it to. I have vowed that the Lannister’s will no longer hold that castle and I intend to stand by that vow, and yet I have been advised that the next ruler of the rock must have Lannister blood. I find myself in an odd situation. I cannot give it to someone who will hold the name Lannister and yet I must give it to a Lannister. My only options are women or Frey’s, the rest are all to distantly related to be considered.” Stannis ground out. Lysa could tell it killed him to reward anyone related to the former Queen but needs must.

“The problem with women is that whichever house they marry into becomes the Lords of the Westerlands, with all the titles that entails. I cannot therefore give it to a house already holding a lord paramountship, and yet there is no house I can think of to raise” he grumbled.

“Your grace, have you considered starting a new house with a Lady from House Lannister, and a second son from a previous house” Lysa suggested, demurely. She made sure to keep her eyes downcast so as not to seem above her station.

“I, no I had not considered that. It would probably be my best option. Now that I think of it, it is a brilliant idea. We could amalgamate the first names of the first Lord and Lady of this new house to create the name of the House. In order to ensure that succession is respected we must keep the Lion as the symbol of the house, only change the colours so as to differentiate it from the Lannister’s of Lannisport” Stannis brainstormed. He seemed to have taken the idea on and Lysa had no doubt that soon he, and every other man in the room will have decided that it was the great King Stannis’s idea. It did not worry her though, she had achieved her goal.

“The only question then is which Lannister girl to we use?” Ser Davos asked.

“Whoever it is will have to be relatively closely related to Tywin” Rob added, calmly. It seemed that everyone had taken to her idea and was running with it.

“Unfortunately the only three girls I can think of who fit that description, are Joy Hill, the former Princess Myrcella, and Kevan Lannister’s young daughter Janai, who is barely out of the nursery.” Willas said. It was not a good choice, two bastards or a babe. She could see that Stannis was unhappy with the options laid before him and so Lysa crossed her fingers and hoped that this wouldn’t make him dismiss the idea out of hand.

“Whoever it is will need to be married soon, so we cannot consider Janai. Our choice then must be, as much as it pains me to do so, between Joy Hill and Myrcella Waters.” Stannis ground out. Lysa wondered how long it would take with Stannis as King until he ground all the teeth out of his head.

“I am disgusted by the treason perpetrated by the Kingslayer and the former Queen, and would prefer that their line die out in ignominy, but we do not always get what we want and in this instance we have to acknowledge that though they are both bastards, Myrcella received a far better education and has far better training as befits a Lady” Lysa entreated. “Also, Myrcella is currently betrothed to an appropriate second son, the Prince Trystane. She is the better candidate”

There were murmurings around the table, of agreement and disgust. Lysa did not interrupt to defend her idea though, she knew she was right. There was only one real choice here. Making Myrcella the Lady of the Westerlands would ensure that Dorne was happy, and that the Westerlands would not rise up against a puppet lord. Stannis was not an idiot, he would realize as she had what he must do. Stannis stood up.

“I will write to Dorne” He said, as he walked away, leaving Ser Davos to dismiss the meeting.

* * *

 

_To the Prince Doran of Dorne, in writing from the King of the Seven Kingdoms, Lord Protector of the Realm, etc._

_There has been several trials in the time since we sent Lord Tyrion of the House Lannister to you as a hostage, specifically the trials of the parents of your ward, Myrcella. Her mother has been sent to join the Silent Sisters, her father the Night’s Watch. I am writing to share an idea. Given the crimes committed by the reigning members of the Lannister family, I have decreed that no one holding that name shall ever again rule Casterly Rock or the Westerlands. However we must also respect bloodlines, and whoever rules after Lord Tywin must be in some way related to the man. It has been decided that a new house will be formed with a Lady from house Lannister, and a second son from an appropriate house joining their names to create a new house. Given the lack of appropriate legitimate females, closely related to Tywin Lannister we must turn to the illegitimate. Specifically to Myrcella Waters. Her betrothal to your son Trystane, if it still stands, would be an appropriate union to lead this new house. In simpler terms, if you are willing to allow your son to marry the girl, I would support her claim to Casterly Rock on the condition that they choose a new family name, I would suggest an amalgam of their given names, as well as new colours and words though they may  keep the lion sigil._

_Stannis Baratheon, King of the Seven Kingdoms_

* * *

 

Myrcella was praying in the Sept, as she had been every day since news of the fall of Kings Landing had arrived. Oberyn was loath to interrupt her, as it seemed to be the only thing that gave her peace, even her uncle’s arrival had done little to soothe her distress. His daughters had attempted to give comfort, to tell her that the life of a bastard, while different to that of a Princess was not the horror painted by Septa’s and Septon’s north of the Dornish Marches, but they had not managed to lift the girls spirits. Still, they news they had received from the King was good and Myrcella needed to be told.

“Myrcella, sweetling, Could you please accompany me to Doran’s solar” Oberyn called, wincing at how loud his voice sounded in the silence.

“Of course, my prince” Myrcella murmured, rising from her position in front of the alter of the Maiden. Ever since she had been told of her bastardry she had spoken to them with all the courtesies she had been trained at birth to by her Septa.

They walked together in silence, the servants they passed turning their heads away, though Myrcella kept her head high. Oberyn knocked on his brother’s door and waited, as he had so many times before, for his brother to allow him entrance and for Areo to open the door. They walked in to find Doran staring at the letter.

“Myrcella, come sit” Doran offered, gesturing to a seat, though they all knew that Myrcella had little choice. Oberyn stood next to Areo and was once again grateful that he was not the ruling Prince.

“We have received a letter from his grace, King Stannis” Doran began, Oberyn watched as Myrcella blanched and her hands started shaking.

“He wished to make an offer. Should we acquiesce, and your betrothal to Trystane continue, King Stannis will, with some conditions make you the Lady of the Westerlands” Doran explained, a small smile playing on the corners of his lips. He watched as tears grew in Myrcella’s eyes, and as she suppressed sobs.

“I, I don’t understand. I am a bastard, why would he give me a, I don’t understand” Her eyes moved wildly from Doran to Oberyn, so he stepped forward and squeezed her hand.

“You will have to take a new name, and new colours, and new words, if you accept his offering. He is giving you this because you have blood relation to Tywin Lannister and because in doing so he will ensure that the rulers of Casterly rock do not hold the name Lannister.” Oberyn explained. It was a shock he could see, though she seemed to be calming herself rather well.

“You would allow Trystane to marry me then? Even though my parents were siblings and treasonous” Myrcella choked out. Oberyn could see that it pained her to have to ask such a question but he understood her disbelief.

“My sister married a man whose parents were siblings, and people called him Prince. Your parents actions are not your own, Myrcella and you should not be punished for them. I would allow my son to marry you yes, partly because I think it might break his young heart if were to disallow such a thing, and partly because it would be a good marriage for him. Husband to the Lady of the Westerlands, though I would assume that the titles of Warden of the West, and Shield of Lannisport will be reassigned.” Doran elucidated softly.

* * *

 

_To his grace, Stannis Baratheon, King of the Seven Kingdoms,_

_I have spoken to Myrcella and Trystane about your generous offer regarding Casterly Rock, and we have decided to accept. A new house shall be formed, being led by my son Prince Trystane and my soon to be gooddaughter, Lady Myrcella. The name they have chosen is House Tryscella. After much consideration they have decided to keep the lion motif, though the colours have been changed to a red the shade of terracotta in the morning sun, and silver. They have yet to decide on words for their new house. I understand that they have duties they must undertake, however I would respectfully ask that they may continue their educations in Dorne until such time as Casterly Rock has been made ready for their rule._

_Written in the Light of the Seven,_

_Doran Martell_

* * *

 

**I, Stannis Baratheon, First of My Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, King on the Iron throne do hereby legitimise Myrcella Waters.**

**From this day forward she shall be named Lady Myrcella of the House Tryscella, Lady of Casterly Rock, Lady Protector of the Westerlands.**

* * *

 

Myrcella and Trystane sat in the water gardens at a cyvasse table.

“Whoops” Myrcella giggled, as she took Trystane’s elephant. They had been playing for nigh on an hour, and she was close to winning. Trystane could see that too so he tipped his emperor.

“You win, again.” He smiled, though as he admitted defeat.

“Do you know what words you want for our new house?” Trystane asked, as they packed away the cyvasse set.

“What do you want?” Myrcella queried, with a grin on her face.

“It’s up to you” Trystane rejoined quickly.

“It’s up to both of us, we will both be the founding parents” Myrcella cajoled. In truth, though this was the best option and the only way she would get to marry Trystane, she was not looking forward to eventually having to leave Dorne to live in a castle so far away. Myrcella also felt guilty, she was taking Trystane away from his home, and she wanted it to be fair, she didn’t want to be the sole ruler.

“Well, perhaps something referencing rebirth?” Trystane suggested.

“Yes, like phoenix’s, or something” Myrcella added, building on Trystane’s idea. A grin suddenly appeared on her face.

“I know what about Rising from the Ashes, like the Phoenix rises after it burns” She said excitedly. A matching grin appeared on Trystane’s face.

“Brilliant” He exclaimed.

* * *

 

Stannis sat on the Iron Throne waiting for his daughter to arrive. He wished that such ceremony was unnecessary but he had to secure his daughter’s rights. Shireen walked in, her hair pulled back, displaying her scars. He was glad to see them, glad she was not ashamed of being a survivor. She wore the black and gold of the royal house, and was accompanied by her favoured companion, Lady Veerke of the House Bar Emmon. He rose as she approached and fell to her knees, bowing her head.

“Rise, Princess.” Stannis intoned, his voice echoing throughout the chambers. The throne room was full, every noble in the city in attendance. He watched as Shireen rose, with a straight back.

“Princess Shireen of the House Baratheon, I name you my heir. You are hereby named the Crown Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, Lady of Storms End, and Lady of Dragonstone.” Stannis proclaimed, watching as scribes took down his words.

* * *

 

Edmure arrived in Kings Landing to see the city rebuilding after what he assumed as a violent take over. The scars would take a while to heal, although he was glad to see the new King did not take his responsibility lightly, there were men rebuilding with the flaming stag on their surcoats. He rode on his mare, past Rhaenys’s Hill towards the Red Keep. The party sent to welcome him was small, though he was glad to see it was full of family, his sister’s, uncle and nephew. They were accompanied by a young maiden with beautiful red hair. _This must be Sansa,_ Edmure thought to himself.

He stepped into the embrace offered by his eldest sister.

“Edmure, might I introduce you to my eldest daughter, Lady Sansa. Sansa this is your uncle, Lord Edmure, the Master of Laws” Catelyn introduced, Edmure was startled when he was introduced as Master of Laws. He still hadn’t adjusted to the knowledge that he now sat on the Small Council.

“Niece, It is a pleasure to meet you. I am gladdened to see that you have survived your trauma.” He spoke quietly, kissing her proffered hand.

“I am pleased to finally meet you as well, my Lord” Sansa replied, curtseying, her courtesies polished.

“Brother, it is good to see you, though as much as I would like to invite you to rest, the King has asked to speak with you at your earliest convenience, so I must escort you” Lysa informed him, there was trepidation in her tone though, Edmure could not figure out why. It was only logical that the King would want to meet with him, given that he was to serve on the Small Council, as Master of Laws.

“Of course, I travelled as quickly as I could, my betrothed shall join me soon, she is travelling via carriage though and shall arrive in about a weeks’ time” Edmure said.

He walked with his sister, through the halls of the Castle. Catelyn and her children were seeing to his household’s installation in the rooms that had been assigned to him.

King Stannis was waiting at what he assumed were the doors to the Small Council chambers. He was an imposing figure, lacking all of the joviality his brothers had been known for, although maybe that was a blessing as he was the lone survivor.

“My Lord, I have some information that needs to be disseminated” Stannis informed him before turning and entering the chamber. Edmure assumed that he was supposed to follow alone and did so, after bidding Lysa farewell.

“Your grace” Edmure bowed once he had entered the room. It was sparsely decorated, reflecting the personality of the King who ruled. He expected to see the rest of the Small Council, but there was only one man there.

“Lord Edmure, this is my Hand, Ser Davos Seaworth” Stannis waved his hand at the Onion Knight, Edmure tried not to stare but his eyes still glanced towards the mans famed fingers for a moment.

“My Lord” Ser Davos greeted though he remained seated.

“Ser” Edmure responded, taking a seat, before realising he should probably wait till Stannis either sat or instructed him to do so.

“Lord Edmure, as you will no doubt have heard, we have sent Lord Tywin Lannister, and his brother Lord Kevan north to join the Kingslayer in the Night’s Watch. The former Lannister stronghold of Casterly Rock is currently being prepared for the rule of its new inhabitants, Lady Myrcella of the house Tryscella and her betrothed Prince Trystane of the House Nymeros Martell.” The King grouched. “For obvious reasons we have removed from them the titles of Warden of the West and Shield of Lannisport. I would like to pass on the title of Warden of the West to my _faithful_ allies, the Tully’s of Riverrun” Stannis finished, sounding very much like he had been coached through most of his speech.

Edmure opened his mouth to speak and then abruptly shut it again. _Warden of the West_ , it was a title that had been in Lannister hands since Aegon the Conqueror had first forced the Lions of the Rock to kneel. A consolation prize for the loss of their crown. It was not like the title of Warden of the South which had been hotly contested by the Martell’s since they joined the kingdom.

_I could one day be Warden of the West._ Edmure thought to himself. It was when Ser Davos cleared his throat, that he realized that they expected him to respond.

“I would on behalf of my father, thank your grace for such a honour” Edmure stammered, his nerves showing.

“Good. That’s all, you can go now” Stannis dismissed him gruffly, and Edmure bowed quickly before escaping.

* * *

 

Catelyn stood in front of the box that held the remains of her first husband. Tear’s streamed down her cheeks as she thought about how _Eddard, strong and brave and kind Eddard_ had been reduced to a broken box of bones. It had taken a while for them to track down his bones, but they finally had. It broke her heart to think of the way he had died, to think of the way those _people,_ though they barely deserved that title, had treated his remains.

They would bring his bones with them when they travelled to Winterfell for the wedding, she was fiercely glad then that the Tyrell’s wanted such a big celebration. It would take time to organize the affair, meaning they would have time between the internment of Eddard and the wedding. She would have to send out for a stone mason soon, perhaps write to Maester Luwin and have him start the process. The gods knew how long it took to carve full sized statue of a man, so they should start as soon as possible.

There was a quiet cough behind her, and in her peripheral vision Catelyn saw her son slowly walking forward.

“Is that it?” he asked softly, “Is that father, is that father’s bones?” Robb stammered.

“Yes” Catelyn affirmed. They stood in silence staring at the box. She noticed Robb’s shoulders shaking, and his eyelashes collecting tears. Catelyn placed her arm on his forearm and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“I will write to Maester Luwin and ask him to begin the process of arranging a statue for the crypts.” Catelyn told Robb. He nodded stiffly and the silence stretched on. They stayed there for nigh on an hour, until the city’s bell chimed six times. They left the chamber the casket had been brought to in silence, walking away with wet cheeks.

 

* * *

 

_To King Stannis, and all the Lords of the Realm,_

_The Night’s Watch requests your aid. A free folk army has amassed north of the Wall and is marching towards us. They are being chased by an army of White Walkers, led by the Others. I have sent along proof in the form of an arm of a white walker, carried in a bag by Pyp. I beg your aid in the fight against these monsters of winter. If the wall falls, and the monsters win, they will come for you._

_Jon Snow, 999 th Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch._

There was dead silence as King Stannis read the letter aloud, the entire court seemed to be holding their breath as the boy, Pyp, stepped forward and emptied his sack onto the ground. A frozen arm bounced across the ground, its blue and white ice almost beautiful. It stilled for a moment before it began crawling toward the throne, eliciting screams from many of the witnesses. Pyp stepped forward picking up the arm with the sack.

“Now you’ve seen it, anyone care to point me to the nearest fire, you gots to burn these things” Pyp’s voice was course, his accent pointed towards flea bottom.

Stannis cleared his throat, as Ser Davos ushered out Pyp, hopefully sending him somewhere where he could burn that thing.

“Members of the Small Council, I am calling a meeting” he announced, before storming out of the throne room. He asked one if his pages, Allym to inform the Hand of the meeting, and to request the presence of the Night’s Watchman.

 

* * *

 

Fortunately most of the small council was waiting for him when he arrived, with the exception of Ser Davos. That Royce girl was there too, the one Lady Lysa Arryn had insisted on. Stannis thought having her there would be an annoyance, but she kept quiet, only taking the occasional note. Honestly she was preferable to most of his brother’s advisors in that way. He seemed to have interrupted an argument though as there was tension in the room as he sat down.

“Your grace, you cannot be thinking of listening to this nonsense can you?” the Master of Ships, Lord Paxter exploded, sending spittle across the room. Stannis winced, once again wishing that someone else had been put up as the Master of Ships.

“What nonsense is that exactly?” Stannis asked in turn, his voice tense. _Give me a reason,_ he thought to himself, _give me a reason to boot you from this table._

“The nonsense about grumpkins and snarks. I’ll believe there’s a wildling army and they need our help repelling them, but ‘white walkers’ and ‘others’, it’s the same drunken sailor nonsense as those who say that Targaryen cunt has dragons” Lord Paxter scoffed. _Damn,_ Stannis thought to himself. The man raised good points. The arm was dramatic, and he didn’t know how it moved, but he had seen magic before.

They were interrupted by the door opening, Ser Davos ushered in Pyp and gestured to him to take a seat.

“Sorry for making you wait your grace. Take a seat now, laddie” Ser Davos spoke to both Stannis and Pyp in the same breath.

“What have I missed?” Ser Davos asked the room. No one seemed inclined to answer him so Stannis took it upon himself.

“Lord Paxter seems to thing it a bad idea to send more than a token force, I haven’t heard the opinions of the other’s” Stannis groused. There was some awkward shuffling before the Tully boy seemed to take the hint.

“I would advise sending proper reinforcements. The Night’s Watch perform an invaluable service to the Kingdom’s, and I for one do not want to be overrun by wildlings or monster’s from children’s stories.” Lord Edmure counselled. As much as Stannis did not want to admit it the green boy had a good idea. He turned to his Master of Whispers, watching as the Royce girl leaned forward to whisper something in his ear. Ser Ivor cleared his throat.

“I would agree with Lord Edmure, we must ensure the Wall stands, and it would be a good idea to investigate these claims of _white walker’s_ ” Ser Ivor’s emphasis on the term white walker did not go unnoticed by any in the room.

“There not just claims. I saw ‘em with my own eyes, Sam killed one.” Pyp exclaimed, nearly jumping out of his seat, only restrained by Ser Davos’ hand on his arm.

“Regardless of the validity of the _claims_ ” Ser Ivor continued, causing a dark look to appear on Pyp’s face. “We ought to send help, if only for this supposed army of wildlings”.

“Free folk” Pyp muttered under his breath. Stannis ground his teeth in frustration.

“Speak louder. If you have something to say don’t mutter it under your breath” Stannis instructed, almost rolling his eyes when a defiant look appeared on the boy’s face.

“Free folk. That’s what they call ‘emselves. Not wildlings. Just cos they were born north of the wall don’t make ‘em not human” Pyp continued. “That’s what Jon says” He declared, as though the word of Ned Stark’s bastard ought to shut everyone else up. Stannis rolled his eyes.

“Free folk then. How many men does the Lord Commander want?” Stannis asked.

“All of ‘em.” Pyp said, with a graver tone of voice then someone that young should be able to muster.

“All of them?” Stannis repeated, having to restrain himself from banging his head on the table.

“As many as you’ve got” Pyp agreed, looking slightly relieved.

“Alright, I will take your words into consideration. Thank you for your advice” Stannis dismissed him.

“Your welcome, your grace.” Pyp grinned, staying put.

“You can go now” Stannis growled, when it didn’t look like Pyp would leave of his own accord.

After the door slammed shut indicating the Night’s Watchman had left. Stannis turned to the rest of the Small Council

“I have heard your advice and will think on it. Good day, gentlemen” He ground out, already tired of the pointless courtesies he had to espouse. The men shuffled out the door until only Ser Davos remained. He hovered in the doorway, seeming to debate something in his head.

“You are the king and as such are the servant of the realm. You have a duty to protect it. Also, because he forgot, I should mention that Pyp said the only way to kill these white walkers is dragon glass” Ser Davos uttered, before closing the door softly behind himself.

* * *

 

Stannis stood in front of the Iron Throne. He preferred to make announcements, and rule standing rather than sitting, after witnessing his brother go to fat and drunkardness.

“I have gathered you here today to announce my intentions to answer the plea sent by the Night’s Watch. I intend to sail forth to East-watch by the sea in seven days’ time, taking with me my army. I would hope that all faithful and true lords of the realm would join me in my endeavour.” Stannis intoned. He could see that some disapproved of his words, though none dared to voice such opinions in his presence. Melisandre had advised that he take his queen and heir with him. She herself had been conflicted about joining his retinue north. Melisandre said that she had a duty to remain by his side, as he was Azor Ahai reborn, but also that she had a duty to convert and save the citizens of Kings Landing. In the end her duty to him outweighed leading the religious conversion of the capital.

The announcement of his intentions seemed to have left a bitter taste in the mouths of some of his Small Council, though they did not seem overly inclined to share their thoughts. Finally, after the silence had stretched into uncomfortable territory, he asked them to share their thoughts.

“Well? What do you have to say?” Stannis ground out.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to leave the capital so soon after you took it?” Ser Ivor asked cautiously, after a few minutes of silence. He levelled a glare at the Knight from the Vale.

“Yes. How can I expect my men to fight, if I am not there to lead them?” Stannis snapped, already wishing he could leave. It was times like these that he empathized with Robert, terrible king though he was he hadn’t been wrong about how frustrating it was.

“What if I were to stay?” Lord Edmure suggested softly, his voice hardening slightly, probably at the disgusted look on Stannis’s face. _What kind of leader allows others to sacrifice their lives while he stays behind city walls._ “Look, we all know that I am not a hugely successful military leader. I have no experience leading an army or fighting a war, my uncle Brynden would be far better at it than I could ever hope to be. What I am good at is administration, as boring as that may sound. I can keep the city running in your name, whilst the Riverlander troops fight under a successful general” the Master of Laws spoke convincingly, and Stannis found himself nodding in agreement. What did it matter to him who led the troops from the Riverland’s after all.


	11. Chapter 11

_To Prince Doran of the House Nymeros Martell,_

_His grace Stannis Baratheon, first of his name, writes to inform you that the Wall and the Kingdom are at risk. We have received information that there is a wildling army massing north of the Wall, planning to invade. We have also received unconfirmed information that the ‘Others’ and that ‘White walkers’ are threatening the realm and the Kings peace. His grace will sail to East-watch-by the sea, and then travel to Castle black where he will be met by men and arms from the North, the Vale, the Riverland’s, and the Reach. Given the ruler of the Westerlands still resides in Dorne, they are exempt from sending men. The King looks forward to meeting the Dornish spears either at East-watch-by the sea or Castle Black._

_Dictated by Ser Davos Seaworth, Hand of the King._

* * *

 

 “Ser Davos” King Stannis called whilst Davos was overseeing preparations for the army to set sail. He turned and faced his King.

“Yes, your grace” Davos smiled, walking toward the man who had taken his fingertips and given him a knighthood.

“You have been overseeing our preparations _adequately”_ King Stannis observed. Davos hid his grin, coming from his grace adequate was effusive praise. “I need you to take one ship and set sail tonight, for Dragonstone. I need you to recover as much of the obsidian in Dragonstone as you can as quickly as you can, and then set sail to join me at the Wall” His grace instructed a grim look on his face. Davos did not know if his King believed the stories the man from the Night’s Watch had told, though Melisandre certainly had. Either way he seemed to be preparing for anything.

“Of course, Your Grace” Davos replied, heading off to send a letter to his Marya.

* * *

 

Catelyn packed the last of her dresses into her trunk, feeling Willas’s eyes on her as she worked.  He had put down his the book he was reading on the bedside table.  She was sad to leave Kings Landing, not because of any attachment to the city itself, but because of what was to come. Winterfell had been her home for nearly two decades and now she would have to see someone else step into her role as Lady of Winterfell. Not that Lady Margaery wasn’t capable, because she was and Catelyn was sure that she would make an admirable Lady of the North but still, Catelyn was melancholy.

“Lady Wife, I do not like to see you so sad. What came I do to cheer you up hmm?” Willas asked with a wicked grin on his face and he embraced her, dragging laughter out of her. His attentions had not waned since they found out she was carrying his babe, if anything they had increased. Willas loved her bump, loved kissing it and caressing it. It was one of the things that surprised her about him, Catelyn had been concerned that he would be disdainful about her stretchmarks, and the looseness of her belly, more for what they represented than a disdain for scars. Catelyn smiled up at her husband. They were free for the rest of the afternoon.

“Come now, I am sure you can think of something” Catelyn laughed as they tripped over each other on their way to the bed. Willas flopped backwards on to the bed, wriggling up until his whole body was lying on the mattress. His grin was infectious, and Catelyn lied down next to him. Their couplings lacked the passion, and history that she had shared with Eddard, but they were fun and light hearted in a way that Eddard and her rarely were. Catelyn certainly laughed more whilst fucking Willas then she had with Eddard.

Catelyn turned, and climbed on top of her husband, leaning down to kiss him gently.

* * *

 

Sansa could hardly believe it. She watched as the dresses she had taken from Winterfell so long ago, and the new dresses her mother had ordered for her being packed into carts. _I am finally going home_. It was bittersweet though; there were only two of the original Northern party still alive. Jeyne Poole and herself, and neither of them would leave this hell hole masquerading as a city without scars.

She felt someone squeeze her hand and she turned to see Jeyne standing next to her. Sansa wondered if they were thinking of the same things, they had both lost their father’s to this city after all.

“Are you looking forward to returning to Winterfell?” Sansa asked softly. Jeyne had been withdrawn ever since they had found her in one of Littlefinger’s brothels. Jeyne’s mouth turned down briefly.

“Yes and no. I was raised in Winterfell so it is my home, and I am looking forward to seeing Beth again, and being with people who do not know the details of my time in Kings Landing. It will not be the same though, I am tainted now, it will be difficult to get a husband, let alone a good match” Bitterness coloured Jeyne’s tone as she talked, though she smiled wanly. Sansa was plagued with guilt then. She would retain her marriageability, despite her scars because of her name.

“Any man who thinks you are lesser because of what you have been through will face my wrath. You will be fine, Robb will provide a dowry for you, in lieu of your father” Sansa comforted, turning to embrace her friend.

They stayed watching the preparations continue until the sun set. Sansa was fiercely glad that Jeyne had been saved, and seemed to be opening up more.

* * *

 

Robb walked out of the solar he had co-opted whilst he was in the Capital. Lord Manderly had just arrived and would be taking over the position of Master of Coin whilst the rest of the Northern troops left for Winterfell and Castle Black. He would be travelling with the Northern forces, his betrothed and half of the Reachmen, his great-uncle and half of the Riverlander forces, his aunt Lysa and half of her men. The rest of the army would be sent back to their homes to take in the harvest’s in preparation for Winter.

Robb was startled out of his thoughts by a small cough.

“Theon, I haven’t seen you in days. Where have you been, Greyjoy” Robb exclaimed, slapping Theon on the back as he embraced his foster brother.

“At some brothel. I was laying low, there aren’t too many people in this castle that would be happy to see a Greyjoy, raised in the North or not” Theon smirked, with a harsh twist to his lip. Robb felt guilty for a moment, he had been so busy with his duties as Lord of the North that he hadn’t given any thought to how Theon was coping, or whether he would return to Winterfell with them or to the Iron Isles.

“Have you spoken to the king?” Robb asked. He hoped that Theon would be given the opportunity to return to Pyke, though he would miss the Iron Islander if that happened. Theon fidgeted, then before answering.

“I tried. The king though is very busy, much too busy for the children of _actual_ traitors.” Theon sneered. Robb was confused by his demeanour until he noticed some lordling that had been in the Red Keep when they arrived. Theon had been just as outraged as he to hear about what had happened to Sansa. Robb remembered him declaring that Sansa was just as much of his sister as Asha was and ranting about how they ought to execute all of the Kingsguard. Fortunately for the Kingsguard cooler heads had prevailed although they were not likely to find comfort at Castle Black, especially not after Robb had sent Jon a letter briefly explaining what they had done to Sansa. If he got his wish by the time he arrived at Castle Black the former Knights of the Kingsguard would be miserable.

“You know though, that whilst I value you more than I can put into words, that no one would stop you should you choose to leave?” Robb queried. It was important that Theon know he had freedom even if he never utilised it. Never left. A wistful look graced Theon’s face, then as he walked over to a window and gazed out at the Blackwater.

“I would give you a Lordship” Robb blurted. Theon whirled around in shock.

“I have a Lordship” Theon replied, a warning note in his voice. He was right of course; he was heir to the Iron Islands. Heir to a castle he had not set eyes on since he was of an age with Brandon.

“I know. I know, I just. The Iron Islands are so far away, and you are a brother to me.” Robb explained, watching as a grim sort of petulance graced the face of his closest friend.

“If you are so concerned with not being parted from me then I could offer you a Lordship of your own on the Iron Islands” Theon spat back. Robb winced, knowing that he would never consider giving up the entire north to rule some paltry holdfast on the Iron Islands.

“Sorry. That was rude of me.” Robb apologized. Theon sighed and then rubbed is face with his hand.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry for jumping down your throat. It’s just, I’m stressed. The Iron Islands are my birthright yet I have not laid eyes on them in many years. Some say my father is grooming Asha to inherit after him. I can’t even blame him, being raised by a Greenlander as I was. I am as much a product of the parenting of Eddard Stark as he was a product of Jon Arryn” Theon grumbled, a dejected look crossing his face. Robb had already lost one brother to duty, after Jon had left them for the Night’s Watch, and it killed him to consider losing Theon to his duty to his homeland but Robb knew it would be better for Theon in the long run so he swallowed his pride.

“You should go to Pyke. Not immediately, but once we have returned to Winterfell and the girls are settled, you should ride to Bear Island and take a ship to Pyke. Learn about your people and how to rule them. Make sure you come back to visit though.” Robb grinned, with a hearty slap to Theon’s back. There were tears in his eyes and he saw them mirrored in Theon’s. They were interrupted from their bonding though when Robb saw Sansa and Jeyne, walking toward them arm in arm.

“My Ladies” Theon grinned, a charming smile on his face as he kissed Sansa and Jeyne’s hands. Robb copied him though he lacked the natural charm of Theon. Both girls smiled and curtseyed where they would have once blushed and giggled and Robb was again struck with anger at this city and the Lannister’s for what they had taken from innocents.

“You know I am no Lady, Theon. Do not jest” Jeyne’s tone was dry, but there was a spark of hurt in her eyes. Theon frowned at that response.

“I know very little of what you have been through at the hands of his Lady Catelyn’s foster brother but whatever it was, whatever the state of your maidenhood you are more a Lady than half the women in this castle. You are kind and loyal, and whatever happened was not your fault” Theon declared, maintaining eye contact with Jeyne as he spoke. Jeyne wrenched her hand back, although there was a wry smile on her face. Robb noticed Sansa eyeing Theon appreciatively and Robb had a suspicion that Theon would be getting a beautifully sewn garment of some kind in the near future.

* * *

 

Prince Doran of Dorne sat in his wheel chair in the Spear Tower overlooking the shadow city of Sunspear. He had returned to Sunspear at the behest of his heir Arianne, to help with arranging the soldier’s to send North to the Wall. A potential invasion by wildlings was a vague concern though, even if the army was twice as large as they had been led to believe he doubted they would make it anywhere near the Reach, let alone Dorne. Nevertheless, his King had made a request and so as loyal subjects they must respond.

“My Prince” a voice quietly wheezed from his left. Doran turned his chair to the sound and found himself face to face with his hostage, the Imp of Casterly Rock. He had not seen the little man since his arrival. Arianne had told him Lord Tyrion preferred the quiet solitude of the library when he was not with his niece. Apparently the Princess, Lady, Doran corrected himself, was quite fond of this uncle of hers, something that increased Arianne's esteem of the man.

"What can I do for you Lord Tyrion" Doran queried. Lord Tyrion seemed hesitant, and there was silence for a moment whilst he gathered his thoughts. Doran was quite happy to wait. Whatever the Imp wanted would probably be more entertaining than the taxes he had been dealing with.

"I heard there was trouble north of the wall. I have come to offer my services - my knowledge about the subject. I have read much about the historic threat of white walkers and Others, and whilst I believed what I read to be no more than old wives tales meant to frighten children into good behaviour, if they are real then it stands to reason that the methods of fighting them have not changed" Lord Tyrion said, all in one breath.

He seemed calmer once he had finished, as if a great weight had been lifted of off his shoulders. Doran smiled, he had been correct this was far more interesting than the tax dispute the Dalts had with some of the merchants of Planky Town.

"You are clever, my lord. I will give you that. You have only been a guest with us for one moon's turn and you are already thinking of ways to leave us and rejoin your family. Unfortunately when the King sent you to Sunspear I think he meant it to be more permanent." Doran explained, turning back to his parchment. The Lannister Lord must have spent too much time in the library and not enough time socialising if he still believed the stereotypes about the Dornish.

"It is not a trick. I genuinely believe I can help the realm" Tyrion pled. Doran sighed, turning back to the Imp.

"The answer is no" Doran croaked. His voice cracking with age and pain.

"Please -" Tyrion began, with a pleading tone to his voice. Doran ignored him and tipped his head towards Areo. The long axe was placed against the wall as Areo lifted the little lord and placed him outside the room.

 

* * *

 

The storms raged fiercely as the entered the bay. The captain had warned that this would not be an easy landing and he was proven right. The ship swayed from side to side as water plummeted down from above and washed into the waves. The crewman who battled to tie the ship to the wharf in the brief lull were as brave as any knights or warriors ever were. Aegon stood grimly in the doorway to the room he had been given. It was one of the first times he had sailed somewhere and not shared a room with Griff, or Jon as he was now to be called.

The news that the usurpers brother had left kings landing in search of fairy tales had brought much joy to Aegon's heart. It left the capital open for him to take with the golden company. A gift for his queen who was currently mired in a far off land. They would retake the Kingdom of their parents, and establish a new Targaryen dynasty.

A small castle stood on top of a lofty outpost of rock. The same rock that built his home, the Red Keep Aegon suspected.

Lemore and the Griff had instructed him to stay aboard and safe whilst they took Griffin's Roost. With the help of Griff's knowledge of the Castle it should not take long, and as long as he remained hidden they could pass this off as Jon Connington returning to take his birthright. As he was exiled by King Aerys. They did not think many people would protest his return.

Once they took old Griff's keep though, they would turn their eyes toward the real prize. Storms End, currently being held in the name of Shireen Baratheon, the daughter of the man who was wearing Aegon's crown. Supposedly the child had survived greyscale with only a scarred cheek to show for it. Propaganda, Aegon suspected; the girl had some deformity and they used it to suggest she was special to the gods, and that she had survived the unsurvivable.

 

* * *

 

_Dear Prince Doran,_

_I, Jon Connington, ever faithful servant of Rhaegar Targaryen write to tell you of a miracle that occurred some sixteen years past. At the end of the war of the usurper, your sister the Princess Elia, in fear for her life and her children’s lives secretly smuggled the crown prince, Aegon the Sixth out of the capital, with help from the Spider, then Master of Whispers, Lord Varys. She had him replaced with an unremarkable bastard from flea bottom. That baby, Prince Aegon has been raised in secret by myself and Septa Lemore, and now with the backing of the Golden Company has come to Westeros to take back his birthright with Fire and Blood. Your nephew, your sisters son, needs your help and Dorne's spears. We have landed in the Stormlands and taken Griffins Roost. By the time this arrives we will have taken Storms End._

_Lord Jon Connington,_

_Hand of the King to Prince Aegon._

* * *

 

Doran stared at the letter that had been placed on his desk two hours ago. A man whom everyone thought had drunk himself to death years ago had reappeared and with him he claimed to have brought a Targaryen Prince, the last Targaryen Prince if his claims were truthful. Doran was appalled; if they were telling the truth then his nephew had been raised by a drunkard and a sellsword company. If they were false then someone was impersonating Elia's son for a crown. Either way, why now? Why had Jon Connington come forward now? Doran sighed as realization washed over him. The King had left the Capital; they were taking advantage of a power vacuum. Oberyn walked through the door then.

"You wished to see me brother?" Oberyn asked, sweat pouring down his face. Doran suspected that he had been training with Obara. Doran could not wait for the day when his niece would finally best her father, but judging by the expression on Oberyn's face that day was not today.

"Come, sit" Doran instructed, trying futilely to put off the inevitable. Whether or not he believed the letter Oberyn would be furious, and that fury would hide his misery. Elia's death was still a raw wound for them both and this would only inflame it. Oberyn frowned slightly but complied with Doran's wish.

"I have received a letter from Jon Connington. He claims that Elia smuggled her son out of Kings Landing prior to the Sack and that he has spent the past fifteen or so years raising him. He claims that Elia swapped her son with some child from Flea Bottom and that was the child that died. He writes that they are in the process of taking the Stormlands are requests our help in taking Kings Landing" Doran explained grimly, watching his brother’s face. Oberyn's face had drained of all colour moments after Doran began speaking and he did not seem inclined to respond. Suddenly Oberyn leapt out of his chair and all but threw himself across the room to where the wine was kept. He picked up a skin of sour red and drained it all in one breath before throwing it across the room.

"How dare he? How dare he use Elia's memory like that! How dare he put us in this position? How dare he not tell us our nephew is alive!?" Oberyn fumed as he stalked across the room. The air crackled with Oberyn’s fury, before all the fight seemed to drain out of him and he flopped onto a chair. Doran watched, his heart heavy with sorrow as tears began to fall from Oberyn's eyes.

"I don't know, Oberyn. I am as confounded as you are. The only thing I am sure of is that we need to ascertain whether this is the truth or the fifth Blackfyre rebellion." Doran sighed, wincing as his gout flared. "Someone will need to go to the Stormlands to ascertain the truth"

* * *

 

Tyrion furtively waddled to the balcony where Prince Doran sat, accompanied as always by his sworn sword, the large Essosi man people called Hotah. He wondered if the Prince wanted to speak to him about whatever had caused Prince Oberyn to lose his temper the day before. Tyrion had heard whispers of a loud shouting from within Prince Doran's solar, and that when Oberyn left he had gone straight to his rooms, where he was still with his paramour, the bastard Ellaria Sand.

Doran and Hotah kept their faces impassive as he arrived, neither acknowledging his presence.

"My Prince, you wished to see me?" Tyrion questioned, keeping his voice passive. He knew well that his continued survival depended on the mercy of the man in front of him. Not only his of course, but Myrcella's. Though the Dornish seemed to love her as much as he had hoped they would. It was hard not to, she was beautiful and brilliant and lacked Cersei's poison.

“Tell me about these monsters?" The prince asked, his eyes still on the Dornish spearmen and women who were congregating.

"You mean the white walkers?" Tyrion replied.

"Yes" Prince Doran answered. He didn't seem like he was going to elaborate on his sudden desire for information.

"They are made of ice, or at least they look like they are made of ice. They are controlled by the Others who are led by Coldhands, whom some claim was once a human. People north of the wall call them Wights. Anyone killed by an Other must be burned to prevent them rising again as a Wight. There are only two things that can kill them, fire and dragon glass or obsidian" Tyrion explained in one breath. He did not know what had prompted the Ruling Prince's curiosity but he hoped that it would lead to him being sent North. Tyrion had no desire to join the Night's Watch, but it would be lovely to see Jaime, to help him, to smuggle some money to him. It would also be sweet to see his father in black. Lord Tywin Lannister, who had denied Tyrion his birthright a man of the Night's Watch. In truth Tyrion was glad that if he could not have Casterly Rock, Myrcella would get it. It would apall the Great Lion to think that not only was a woman going to rule the Westerlands, but one married to a Dornishman.

"I have received information from my spy in the capital. They spoke of a frozen arm that could move, one that needed to be burnt. It is not true proof but it is enough to rouse my curiosity. If I were to send you north to the wall, you would travel in chains. I would assign a spearman to remain by your side at all times to prevent you from running. After the battle, if you survive you will return to Dorne. You know this, yes?" Doran asked, never once taking his eyes away from his army.

"Yes. I know, I am only asking because I think I can help, truly" Tyrion murmured, crossing his fingers behind his back.

"Then you will go. Pack your belongings, I shall send someone to fetch you when it is time for you to board. Say goodbye to Myrcella as well" Doran added, dismissing him. It was one of the strangest conversations Tyrion had ever had, not because of the topic but by how little attention he received, Lord Tywin could have taken pointers in dismissiveness.

* * *

 

Stannis stood on the deck of The Merciful Mother. Shireen remained below deck with Selyse so that she wouldn't be exposed to the blustering gales any more than necessary. Stannis was aware, as he always was of the presence of the priestess Melisandre, standing behind him. He had brought his family along with him on her advice, she had preached that it would be safer for Shireen to remain by his side, and that it would be beneficial for her to learn about her Kingdom, and how to run it from him. Shireen herself had wanted to come, to see the fabled Wall.

East-watch-by-the-sea appeared before him, a crumbling ruin of the once mighty Night's Watch. His heart sank slightly looking at it. It would not hold even a tenth of his army, many men would have to brave the weather, and camp in the cold.

As they sailed into the port a group of men, totalling no more than eight came out to greet them. Stannis felt his sink for what felt like the hundredth time in the past year. If this was all the men the Night’s Watch could send from the second-best fortified castle, for a King and a veritable armada, they were in worse shape than even Stannis’s worst pessimism could have predicted.

* * *

 

Rhialta stood in front of the looking glass her betrothed had gifted her upon her arrival in Kings Landing. She would never have predicted that she would be married at the famed Sept of Baelor, but her future husband’s seat on the Small Council, along with the fact that the King had left the city to defend the realm meant that the marriage would have to take place in the Capital. A fact that had thrilled her father.

Lord Edmure’s newfound authority also pleased Rhialta more then she would perhaps be comfortable admitting. The Vance’s were a powerful house in the Riverland’s, but they were in a precarious position. In order to keep their current political influence they had to marry well, and Rhialta had certainly done her duty with Lord Edmure. They also though, had to marry geographically close. Any family whom they married into would have to be able to martially support them, as the Riverland’s were the most exposed Kingdom, as the Mountain himself had proven.

Rhialta sighed as she eyed the Vance Arms, emblazoned just below the bodice of her dress. She had wanted to do, as her ancestors had done and split it, with the dragon on the front and the eyes of the Eagle that guided Armistead Vance, in the war against the last Mudd king, on the back to see your enemies, but she could not, for such a dress would surely inspire suspicions as to the Vance families loyalty to the Baratheon regime. As her father said, _though we have had dragons on our arms for centuries, the Targaryen’s will always be the house of Dragons, regardless of the others that use the Dragon motif._

It was a pity though that their true allegiances would have to remain secret though, she hoped that Edmure, who was so sympathetic to the cause of the smallfolk, would prove trustworthy.

* * *

 

The bells chimed as Edmure stood at the altar of the Father in the Sept of Baelor. They were celebrating the wedding of the Master of Laws and Heir to the Riverland’s. His hands were clammy, though he relaxed when Marq squeezed his shoulder. He was filled with pride when he saw Lady Rhialta enter the Sept and make her way towards him. Her gorgeous almost black hair, falling in curls around her generous bosom, enhanced by the almost risqué dip in the gowns neckline. Edmure swallowed loudly, his cheeks tinged pink by Marq’s muffled laughter.

The ceremony passed in a daze, until it finally came time to kiss the beauty he was lucky enough to call a wife.

After draping her in the Tully cloak his father had used with his mother Edmure was finally able to relax, and enjoy the festivities he had worked so hard to acquire. It had been humbling having to write to his father and all but beg for the golden dragons to pay for the celebration, but as Lord Manderly had explained, Littlefinger had left the books of the crown in such a state of disarray that there was barely enough money to keep the Red Keep functioning, let alone excess to provide for a wedding.

The singers and musicians from the Riverland’s played loud and fast with bawdy tunes that encouraged dancing. Edmure had always enjoyed the Riverlander music more than the more restrained tunes favoured by the Westerlands. Riverlander dancing was a fun affair with partners changing constantly, people leaving and joining the dances as they pleased. Women danced arm inarm with other women, as men danced arm in arm with other men. He glanced over at his wife, _his wife,_ eyes glassy with mirth, and he wished that someone, any member of his family could be here, but as always he is the forgotten sibling who stays behind to deal with the boring, but necessary management. Not the hero, but the man who ensures the hero has something to return home to. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see Marq, behind him, cask of ale in his hand.

“Edmure, Eddy, Eddymuuuure, I heard that the singers are planning on calling” Marq yawned suddenly, swaying backward before straightening himself. “The singers are planning on calling for the bedding soon, in an, in a half of an hour.” Marq was slurring his speech and once he had finished, stumbled away, knocking over a serving girl as he went. Edmure sighed and righted the poor woman before heading over to the wine. It was finally time for bedding, an event he had dreaded ever since he first heard of it. Edmure grabbed a skin of the strongest sweet wine he could find and drained it in one gulp. The only way he would survive strangers groping and him and removing his clothes, leaving him as naked as the day he was born was with as much wine as he could consume.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Rhialta is not described in any way in the book, in my head she is Kat Dennings.  
> Also, when it is mentioned that people dance with members of the same sex it is not in a sexual or liberal way. Its because men and women can't dance together, as opposed to the liberality of say Dorne, the Riverlands are quite religiously conservative.


	12. Chapter 12

Davos stood, leaning against the balustrades of _The Waterfyre._ He was watching his crew load box after box of Obsidian or Dragon glass onto the ship. Ser Davos was anxious; whilst they had managed to scavenge and mine all of the precious material from Dragonstone it had taken them nigh on one full turn of a moon to do it in. Even if they had all smooth sailing, something that was rarer than the Obsidian itself, they would arrive later than his King would like. Davos worried that their slowness would leave King Stannis in an indefensible position.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Davos spotted Marya standing on the wharf. They had argued for a long time about her coming with him, she had said that if the King had brought his family, than surely his hand should bring his own. Davos had disagreed, privately he thought it folly, but Melisandre had had a vision, and so the royal family had boarded their ship.

* * *

 

Catelyn's body ached, her feet were swollen and her back hurt. She had moved from her horse to a litter the day before but it didn't seem to be doing anything other than slowing them down. She wasn't excessively worried, none of her pregnancies had been pleasant exactly, and she was glad that her nausea had abated. She sighed as she moved to try to find a more comfortable position. Catelyn hoped that they would make camp soon.

Her litter suddenly jolted, and she nearly fell of off the furs she had been resting on. A smile bloomed on Catelyn's face when she realized that they had stopped. _Finally,_ she thought to herself. The door to the litter opened and Willas poked through, a worried smile on his face. He had been tense throughout her pregnancy, worrying over her in the same way Eddard had when she was pregnant with Sansa. It was just as annoying now as it had been then, though the emotion behind it was sweet.

“Catelyn, My Lady” Willas said, as he offered her his arm so that she could step out of the litter.

“Willas, My Lord” Catelyn replied, an amused twist to her lips. They had been married near on four moon cycles and he still sometimes tripped over calling her by her given name. She would think it was some practice of the Reach, being the home of chivalry, but Lady Margaery had no problems calling Robb by his given name, so she assumed it was a Willas thing.

“How was your journey?” Catelyn asked.

“Well, and yours Catelyn?” Willas responded, resuming speaking before she had a chance to reply. “I have been reading a book my grandmother brought me about pregnancy and childbirth” Willas blushed as he said childbirth, something that made Catelyn giggle on the inside. Willas was perfectly happy creating children but like most men he could not quite wrap his head around the idea of childbirth itself.

Catelyn waited, sure that he would eventually come to his point. She was glad he was applying his voracious reading habits to learning about her pregnancy; it showed that he cared, and made Catelyn hopeful that he would be a caring and attentive father. She knew how lucky she had been with Eddard but she was not unaware of his faults. Some of the stories Sansa had told her had appalled her and had Eddard still been alive she would have slapped him upside the head. Having only a Septa escorting Sansa to and from a tourney, in Kings Landing of all places. Leaving her to fend for herself, with only a drunken woman for protection, something even Joffrey thought was too dangerous to allow. She hoped Willas would, for this babies sake be a little more attentive.

“They say that you should leech your blood often, to prevent build-up of poisons that could harm the babe” Willas told her. It took a lot of strength to stop herself from rolling her eyes. Maesters, the men who wrote these books were all celibate or at least meant to be and had little experience with childbirth or carrying a child. Maesters who lived outside the Citadel were generally better although sometimes they followed the instructions written by their brethren against all common sense. She patted her husband’s hand.

“Willas. I will not leech myself. I have given birth to five healthy children, and whilst I appreciate your care, trust me the Maesters are not the experts. If you wish to know more about the process speak to me or a Septa rather than relying on men who have never spoken to a woman about childbirth” Catelyn grimaced at the slight flush of embarrassment on Willas's face. She squeezed his arm in an attempt to be comforting.

“I really do appreciate you trying to help” She comforted. Willas seemed cheered enough by that. Catelyn felt a twinge in her stomach and giggled. She ignored the curious expression on Willas face and stopped walking. Catelyn moved Willas's hand to the bottom of the curve of her stomach and revelled in the way Willas's face lit up when he felt the movement

“Is that?” Willas cleared his throat, Catelyn smiling when she saw he was holding back tears. “Is that what I think it is? Is that our baby kicking” He asked, his hand trembling where it lay.

“Yes” Catelyn replied. She never thought she would have this again, this moment of pure joy, after Eddard’s death and yet here she was.

* * *

Sansa sat on the bed of furs that had been made up for her. They were currently camping in the neck, and it was that uncomfortable sort of weather were it was too cold to not use furs and yet if you did use furs you would often wake in the night, overcome by heat. They had made camp the night before and Robb seemed inclined to move today. Sansa privately agreed with her brother that they should push on to Winterfell as fast as possible, the comforts of the castle of her youth being worth uncomfortable travel, but the Tyrells would not hear of it. They wanted to camp for at least a week, if not longer, though they had been convinced to stop only two nights where they were.

In another life Sansa might have been jealous of the comforts the Tyrells had brought with them, their tents built for luxury as opposed to the ones Robb brought south for war, but she had lived what felt like a hundred lifetimes since then. Sansa rose from her bed and made her way to the trunk where her clothes were kept. She dressed herself and left her tent making her way through the camp site to where the Tyrell's main tent was.

Sansa arrived to see Tyrell servants placing breads and fruit on the table. Sansa wondered how the cooks had managed to make bread in these conditions but did not ask. She looked around to find Margaery who had asked if she would break her fast with them that morning but could not find her. The Lady Olenna was seated with some a Tyrell cousin, Alla if her memory served her. Sansa made her way to the Queen of Thorns slowly.

“Don't dawdle girl. Come, eat, Margaery has never been an early riser but she should appear soon enough” Lady Olenna barked, gesturing to a seat beside her. Sansa moved quickly over to her, not wanting to upset the famed Queen of Thorns

“We are just discussing the North. Alla here will be joining Margaery as one of her lady companions and will be looking for a husband of her own soon enough” Lady Olenna said, brandishing a plate of bread in front of Sansa.

“Take some bread girl, and some jam. You're slender like me, you don't have to worry about your size like some people do, at least until they get married” Lady Olenna softened her tone slightly as she glanced towards Alla who was having bread without jam. Alla shrugged slightly.

“Grandmother's right. I have my father's build.” Alla sighed, looking longingly at the jams and beyond them at the sweetmeats. They were interrupted by Margaery who flung herself down onto a chair that seemed to appear out of nowhere. Sansa was again struck by how incredible the Tyrell servants seemed to be.

“What are we talking about?” Margaery asked as she reached for a peach, biting into it with delicacy. Sansa eyed the fruit, and debated reaching for a peach herself whilst she let Alla and Lady Olenna answer Margaery.

“The North my dear and Alla. She will be in need of a husband soon, though not until a good year after your marriage I would think. Someone respectable and highborn with a good income, as she will be staying on as a Ladies companion.” Lady Olenna explained. Sansa used the lull in conversation to murmur to Alla and ask her to pass the fruit tray.

“Of course, Grandmother. Sansa would be great help in choosing an appropriate husband for Alla.” Margaery agreed. Sansa did not think she was quite necessary to the discussions. She tuned out most of the conversations and focused on slicing the peach. The babbling of the Ladies of the Reach was a most enjoyable backdrop to her breaking of the fast. Sansa thought she had been forgotten when Margaery turned to her.

“Sansa, dearest I do apologize. I invite you to dine with us and then we treat you appallingly. We must give you an opportunity to talk, tell us about Winterfell” Lady Margaery cajoled.

“Surely you have heard all you can stand to about Winterfell from Robb” Sansa replied, her hands clenching and unclenching.

“Not at all, Robb has told of his duties, and I have told your mother all about Highgarden but we are yet to have a Ladies perspective of Winterfell” Margaery said charmingly, a warm smile on her face. Sansa understood the instinct. When she was in the capital she had heard all sorts of rumours, more lie than truth about the castle she grew up in. Some said it was tiny, others said it was as bare as a prison. Sansa could not disagree then but she wanted Lady Margaery to enjoy her new home, for Robb's sake if nothing else.

“Winterfell is warm, warmer than you would think possible. It was built on hot springs and the water is pumped through the walls. When you are inside it is only slightly cooler than the Red Keep. There are hot springs inside the castle too for bathing. It is not all one building. The grounds inside the walls are large, the Godswood itself behind the walls. It is said that twenty men on the walls can hold of a thousand men outside. The sept is small, though beautiful with glass from Myr. There are fireplaces in every room. The rooms are large, though the walls are unadorned save tapestries. There are glass gardens with fruits and my father grows blue winter roses” Sansa exhaled, leaning backwards.

The Tyrell ladies sat in silence, digesting her description. Sansa hoped the Lady Margaery would not be disappointed with the description of her new home. Sansa watched as Margaery nodded slowly, wheels seemed to be turning behind her eyes. Margaery smiled at Sansa then.

“Winterfell sounds lovely. I adore gardens so I am sure I will enjoy the Godswood, and the glass gardens.” Margaery smiled again at Sansa, and she was glad to see it did not seem forced. They finished their breakfast with small talk, Alla and Lady Olenna making suggestions for fruit and flowers from the Reach that Margaery could plant in a glass garden.

Lysa watched as servants packed away her things. They were leaving the campsite in the neck and riding on to Winterfell. Qarla was folding her skirts. Lysa was glad she had taken on the ladies maid, Qarla had proved skilled and discreet. She was funny too, always had a sharp quip on hand. She was exactly the sort of friend Lysa enjoyed, kind without being insufferable. Lysa only hoped she wouldn't fall in love with any Northerner's, as she had grown rather attached to Qarla. Lysa watched as Qarla efficiently organised the men from the Vale and decided that upon their return to the Vale she would make Qarla head of her household.

Tyrion stood on the helm of the longship. His companion’s bodies were unrecognizable under the oiled furs they wore, their faces barely visible. The Wall was as cold and intimidating as he remembered. Their approach from the sea making the monolith Ice Wall seem more daunting. There were empty ships in the harbour when they arrived; Tyrion assumed they were from the King's party. In comparison the Dornish ships were smaller, though more easily manoeuvrable, something important Tyrion thought, in a place with ice-bergs. The castle of East-watch-by-the-sea was small, though it would be big enough for the three Dornish ships to fit in assuming they were as under-manned as Castle Black had been last time he was there.

Once he had walked of the ship onto the wharf Tyrion was pointed towards a wheelbarrow style contraption filled with dried provisions. He sighed, Tyrion did not miss his father but at he missed the deference his name used to command. There was a time when asking a Lannister to do menial labour, even a fully grown one, could have gotten you time in the stocks. Tyrion would love to see some of his 'guards' in the stocks. He would be the first in line to pelt them with rotten fruit, but Cersei could not keep her legs shut and so here he was. Pushing food for Dornish men.

As Tyrion waddled up into the castle he was directed with a grunt up the stairs. He barely had enough energy to flop into bed but he had to hike his way to the top. If it weren’t for the grumbles of the Dornishmen beside him he would have refused and found a place to bed down on the ground floor, but he was a Lannister and he could not let himself be shown up. The dining hall was full, the numbers of Dornishmen far outweighing the numbers of Black Brothers. The smell of the stew enticed him though that was because he had been eating dried food for the past weeks and hot meal no matter the quality was like manna from the gods. He took a bowl of the questionable looking stew, bits of what he hoped was beef bobbing in the brown gravy. Tyrion did not want to sit with the Dornishmen and yet did not think he would find much welcome in the ranks of the Nights Watch. He stood, indecisive feeling the eyes of the room on him.

* * *

“Brother” A cheerful voice called out from behind him. Tyrion turned fast, spilling some stew onto his already filthy clothes. Jaime stood before him, thinner than he remembered, with a beard and wearing all black. It was the most magnificent sight Tyrion had seen in all his life.

“Jaime” Tyrion breathed, watching as his brother grabbed a bowl of the stew and gestured for him to take a seat.

“Tyrion, you look well. Is Dorne treating you okay?” Jaime asked, his eyes drifting over Tyrion’s clothes. There was an edge to Jaime's tone, as there always was when speaking of how people treated him.

“The whorehouses do me well enough, and the library has many Rhoynish tomes I have not yet read. I am learning the language though it is taking me a while, being so different from Andaii and Valyrian, High or Bastard. Myrcella is well” Tyrion added as an afterthought, though Jaime had not asked about her. A frown briefly flashed across Jaime's face and Tyrion’s gut twisted with guilt. Jaime's face smoothed out into a grin though when he replied.

“That is good to hear. I had worried. The Night's Watch is as cold as we always thought it would be. Ned Stark’s bastard makes a passable Lord Commander though it galls me to obey his orders. He won't last though, he has some insane ideas about incorporating the wildlings into the realm” Jaime grumbled as they ate the stew. He was right about the stew, it was bland and the meat was tough though it was not the worst thing he had eaten since his families fall from grace.

“You think they'll revolt?” Tyrion asked.

“Yes. He has not taken into account the Northerners ingrained hatred of those born north of the wall. He also fucked one of them when he was 'undercover'. The men think he is being led by his cock” Jaime explained, finishing his stew with more gusto than Tyrion thought him capable. He grinned at his brother as he spoke.

“And I am sure that you have been his most true supporter since you arrived. Father as well” Tyrion hypothesized. Jaime's face dropped slightly at the mention of their father. Tyrion was not surprised, Jaime had been fathers favourite since he was born, had never been truly on the end of Lord Tywin's wrath. Even after joining the Kingsguard it was Aerys that Tywin was angry at not Jaime. He reached across to pat his brother’s hand.

“Father is not here.” Jaime whispered, leaning forward slightly so Tyrion knew what they were speaking about was a secret. “He went on a ranging mission after taking his vows. The men who went with him all have disappeared as well. Some say that he was killed by a Wight, and that is the story I pretend to believe. Men of the Night's watch thought him old because smallfolk die so young. They think his age meant he was incapable. That is a belief we will need to support. He told me he was joining the wildlings. I believe he means to sneak back through with the refugees though from there I have no idea what his plans are. I cannot join him though, and I would guess you can’t either. We are too well watched” Jaime muttered, his eyes moving across the room. Tyrion was surprised that his father had managed to get away though not shocked. Tywin had always been slippery. He smiled suddenly to Jaime's apparent confusion.

“I am just thinking about the look on Stannis's face when he is told our father escaped”

A matching grin appeared on his brother’s face. Tyrion was glad to see his brother again and reached across to squeeze his hand as they finished their meal in silence.

* * *

 

They had been at East-watch-by-the-sea for two days before the Dornish Captain; Ser Tadeo announced that they were leaving for Castle Black. Tyrion had asked and Jaime was joining them on their journey to the main castle of the Night's Watch. There were mules that would carry the supplies but it looked as though they would be on foot for the majority of the travel. Luckily neither Jaime nor himself were trusted with weapons so they could walk together in the middle of the train. Tyrion also counted his lucky stars that they would be walking slowly so his slow waddle would not be mocked.

* * *

 

The campsites were cold, oiled leather doing very little to keep away the fierce winds. They had been lucky though and had avoided snows so far. According to the leader of the Night's Watch, Alliser Thorne Castle Black was only one night’s camp away. It was a relief to know they were so close to beds, albeit hard uncomfortable ones but Tyrion was anxious about his reception. He wasn't sure whether Doran had told Stannis that he was sending Tyrion north and surly Dornish guard or not the King was not likely to be happy to see him. Especially given his father’s disappearance.

Jaime approached where he was sitting near one the fires with a bowl of vegetable soup.  The men of the Night's watch had been considerably warmer towards the Dornishmen once the offered their dried spices and meats for soups. It was not as tasty as roast boar, or the food he had had in Sunspear but Jaime assured him it was a significant improvement on the food he had eaten on his way to East-watch-by-the-sea.  They sat and ate, as they were wont to do, in silence. Most of his conversations with Jaime happened whilst they were travelling, his brother’s moods unreliable at best.

Sometimes Jaime would be the Jaime of their childhood, all smiles and jokes for his baby brother, sometimes Tyrion would get the bitter japes of his time in the Kingsguard interspersed with the happiness and sometimes Jaime would be bitter and angry and like all the worst parts of Tywin and Cersei. Jaime had always wanted to be a hero like the Knights of the stories and there were no heroes in the Night's Watch. It was better than death but Tyrion was worried that Jaime disagreed, that he would take death over life as it was.

Spending time with Jaime, as they were travelling forced Tyrion to think on the fate of his other sibling. Cersei, once Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, arguably the most powerful woman in the realm now a Silent Sister, or trainee Silent Sister. It was not the indignity of being forced to become a Septa, which could have seen her forced to serve families she once disdained, there was mercy in the anonymity of the Silent Sisters. Still, like Jaime she would lack the comforts of even the lowest noble house and Tyrion wished there was something he could do to help her, but the Sister's took new names when they made their vows, and their faces were covered when they did their work. He would likely never see her again, and if he did he would not know it.

Jaime rose in silence and made his way over to a giant pot where they washed or more honestly where the rinsed their bowls. They would bed down together, sharing body heat in the tents. For all that he was in the right; Tyrion hated Stannis more than he could possible express. If he could he would find a way to free his brother from this bondage, his sister too for he could not imagine Jaime leaving Westeros without Cersei by his side. They resumed their journey in silence as Tyrion planned. If Jaime's vows meant he could not leave the Night's Watch till his death then Tyrion would either have to find a way to kill and the revive him or get rid of the entity to which he swore vows.

 _Jon Snow, you are the nine-hundred and ninety-ninth Lord Commander of the Nights Watch and if I get my way, you will be the last_ Tyrion thought to himself. He was sorry that Ned Starks bastard would get in the way but, he was a Lannister and he owed Stannis Baratheon a very great debt indeed. 

* * *

 

Stannis stood at the entrance to Castle Black, the elevator surround by what had become a tent city. Standing in front of him was the last man he wanted to see, the last man he expected to see. He ground his teeth, it seemed that not all the stories he had learnt about the vipers of Dorne were false.

“Tyrion Lannister” Stannis grumbled. He hoped his fury was well written across his face.

“Your Grace” Tyrion bowed, though his tone was sharp.

“What are you doing here?” Stannis ground out when it appeared that he wouldn't be explaining himself.

“I have studied the myths and legends of the North. I have some idea of what we are up against and how to defeat it. Prince Doran sent me to advise the Dornish warriors” Tyrion explained.

“Do not worry; he too has little faith in my loyalty and obedience.” Tyrion gestured to two of the Dornish spearman who had come through. “He has assigned me a guard with the instructions to kill me if I attempt to escape” Tyrion finished. Stannis was glad of that at least.

“You were sent to advise the Dornish” Stannis asked in an attempt to clarify. He rubbed his face with his hand. This task was growing more difficult by the day; he had arrived to Jon Snows welcome and a disunited Night's Watch. He had to find a way to incorporate nigh on a hundred thousand men, women and children whose culture most aligned with their most hated enemies, and now the Imp stood before him. A 'gift' from Prince Doran.

“Yes” Tyrion replied, his tone indicating he thought Stannis was slow.

“Fine. Take your guards to the library, see if you can help the Maesters steward find anything useful in that library” Stannis waved his hand, dismissing the Imp from his presence. Tyrion looked as though he wanted to argue, but instead bowed slightly before heading of in the direction Stannis had gestured.

* * *

When Tyrion arrived in the library of Castle Black he was greeted by an old man with grey hair and a boy who must only have been a few years older than Joffrey. The boy's belly wobbled significantly as he walked over from where the pair was seated.

“Hullo. I'm Samwell Tarly, this is Maester Aemon” He gestured to the elderly man behind him who nodded vaguely in their direction. Tyrion guessed from the cloudiness of his eyes that the Maester was blind.

“Tyrion Lannister, though I suspect you had already guessed that” Tyrion replied, shaking the hand Samwell had offered. The boy coloured slightly before walking back over to the table they were seated at. Tyrion took that as an invitation to follow

“Yeah, Jon mentioned his Grace had sent you to us” Samwell muttered taking a seat. A cruel part of Tyrion wondered whether the chair would break under the weight of Samwell, but it seemed to hold his weight. The old Maester moved some papers around as Tyrion pulled over a seat. It was not made for his height, and his legs would swing like a child’s though neither companion mentioned anything

“We are studying the Wights, young Lannister” Maester Aemon coughed, blood and spittle appearing in his handkerchief. Tyrion refrained from leaning back, it was unlikely that the man was contagious, had he been the entire Night's Watch would have it by now if what Tyrion had seen of their bathing habits indicated anything. It was likely old age, still Tyrion made a note to avoid touching the man.

“Have you found anything useful” Tyrion asked, ignoring the Maesters use of his surname. He was uncomfortable sitting here with the last male Targaryen, after his family had played such a significant role in destroying the Targaryen family.

“That dragon glass and Valyrian steel are the only things that can kill them and that you must burn all the dead to prevent them rising again” Sam said, picking up a large tome and dropping it on the table. Tyrion looked across the scroll and tomes on the table; he recognized a few, both from his childhood and from his brief time in Winterfell with Roberts’s court. His companions seemed content to work in silence to Tyrion followed their lead.

After a few hours though he was overcome with boredom. He had read many scrolls and pages and none of them provided any new information. The only lead he had was a mythical horn that could bring down the Wall but even if that existed, which he doubted, it would be of no use. Tyrion sighed, leaning back in his chair, and studied his companions. Samwell Tarly was large, with none of the height typically attributed to Tarly's. Tyrion was curious as to why someone meant to inherit a noble house would join the Night's Watch without being forced to for some crime.

The Targaryen Maester was also a mystery. He had famously given up the throne to become the Maester of the Night's Watch. Tywin had thought it stupid, but Tyrion could see there was some merit in the decision as he was alive when so many of his kin were dead or on the run. Since he was stuck here or in Dorne he Tyrion decided to satisfy his curiosity

“Samwell, you were your father’s heir, and Horn Hill is not an insignificant inheritance. Why on earth would you join the Night's Watch? Tyrion asked. The Targaryen Maester frowned severely at him, Sam's arm shaking as he took a breath, Tyrion hoped it was to answer his question.

“My Father” Sam’s voice was shaky as he spoke. “My Father didn't think I would make a good Lord of Horn Hill. My brother was his favoured son. I had wanted to be a Maester but he said no Tarly would become a Maester on his watch. When I was five and ten he told me that if I did not leave and join the Night's Watch on my name day there would be a hunt and I would not return” Sam explained, his hands shaking as he spoke. Tyrion was flabbergasted. Tywin, as cruel as he had been had never sentenced his sons to the Night's Watch. To treat your family so, especially if he was perfectly able, if fat was unthinkable.

“I am sorry” He murmured. It was not enough, he knew from experience to make up for a father who refused you your birthright for things you could not change. Sam seemed intelligent though, he was smart enough to work with the Maester if nothing else.

“Don't be” Sam replied. “The Night's Watch is alright, and I've got Gilly, Jon and Maester Aemon now” Sam shrugged. Tyrion was silently impressed that Sam did not seem to be at all bitter, not like he was about Casterly Rock, though the Rock was a far greater prize than Horn Hill.

“Still, being treated terribly by your father is something I have some experience in. It is an awful thing” Tyrion said, keeping his eyes locked with Sam's. An intelligent man with the ear of the Lord Commander was no small thing, and Tyrion hoped he would be able to befriend him.

“Ah, it’s alright. I mean, I can’t marry but I can still be a Maester. Jon is going to send me to the Citadel to train, so that I can eventually replace Maester Aemon” Sam sends a guilty look towards the Maester, his tone apologetic. Maester Aemon waves his hand

“You'll make a good Maester, boy” Aemon say's, causing Sam to blush slightly.


	13. Chapter 13

Tyrion had been at Castle Black for three days now. He had not seen his brother in that time, given that he was confined to the library and the company it held. Samwell Tarly was an interesting companion. He was loyal to his vows and the Night's Watch and yet had rescued a wildling named Gilly and her son. Sam had claimed that boy  as his own, had gone so far as to suggest that Gilly retreat with her child to Horn Hill, with a letter claiming it as his bastard although Tyrion had put a stop to such nonsense. The child would surely die if that happened, being the son of the man who should have inherited the estate would only paint a target upon the child’s back.

The most surprising of all of his companions was not either Maester Aemon, or Samwell Tarly, or his girl. It was the heir to the Iron Throne. Princess Shireen could be found every day in the library, teaching Gilly to read. Tyrion was surprised she had been allowed so close to him, but he supposed he wasn't seen as much of a threat. The girl was smart, kinder than he would have thought possible given who her parents were. As lovely as her company was though he was glad and relieved when his brother appeared one day in the library.

“Tyrion” Jaime called as he strode into the library. He seemed to be in a good mood, walking with the same cockiness that had characterised his time as a White Cloak, though Tyrion assumed he had forgone his previous habit of bedding the Queen.

“Jaime, you are looking well” Tyrion jumped of off the stool he had been sitting on to greet his brother. He did not ask how Jaime had managed to be allowed to visit though his curiosity must have shown on his face as Jaime flopped gracefully into one of the empty chairs.

“I suppose you are wondering why I am here. I managed to convince our glorious leader that I was no threat to the inhabitants of the library.” Jaime smirked. Tyrion felt his eyebrows rise at that, though he ignored the incredulous noises that were coming from Samwell and Shireen. Maester Aemon seemed content to ignore them all.

“Our glorious leader?” Tyrion coughed out as he sat down next to Jaime.

“The Stark Bastard. I've been trying to get him to let me spend time with you since we arrived. I finally convinced him, played on the whole family thing. Though he might have agreed just to get me to leave him alone” Jaime explained with a derisive twist to his lips. Tyrion ignored the agreeing sound Sam made and focused his attention back on his brother. There was no telling how long he would be allowed to stay. Especially with the Crown Princess within striking distance. Jaime seemed content to ignore Shireen though so Tyrion did not mention it.

* * *

“Ah, well it is good to see you anyway” Tyrion offered. He could not think of anything more to say to Jaime though, which worried him. They had never been without conversation before. Jaime sighed, rubbing his face with his hand. Exhaustion was plain on his face and Tyrion burned with fury. He noted with distaste that Sa and Shireen had packed up their books and were quietly leaving, though it was probably smart. It would not do for Stannis to hear of his precious daughter being in the company of the Kingslayer or as Tyrion had heard some people say the Queenfucker.

“Not as good as it is to see you. I never thought I would set eyes on a Lannister not named Tywin ever again, and then you appeared. I am tempted to send Doran Martell some sort of thank you but I doubt he would appreciate anything from me” There was more self-pity in Jaime's tone that Tyrion was quite comfortable with though he did not mention it.

“You are probably the only person glad to see me here. I was sent because I have knowledge of White Walkers, because I have read about them and now that I am here I find myself useless. My body has never been useful in a fight but I find this is the first time my mind has failed me” Tyrion sighed. He hated feeling useless, feeling like all those who wrote him off because he was a dwarf were right.

“Any knowledge you have would probably be more useful than I at this moment. They are making me a steward. I was to be a ranger but after father, well they do not trust me. Jon Snow is smarter than his father in that regard at least” Jaime muttered. They sat I silence before Tyrion decided to bring up something he had been mulling over since he arrived.

“I had an idea” He began, keeping his eyes on Jaime. What he was about to suggest was something many would consider immoral. Jaime looked at him levelly.

“An idea? Let’s hear it then. Anything to break up the monotony would be well received” Jaime mused. Tyrion swallowed his throat dry.

“I had a thought about how to get you out of the Night's Watch. When you killed Aerys you told me it was because of the caches of Wildfyre. That he was threatening to burn the city to the ground. I found a small amount of it in my defence of the city. If you remember the locations of the rest of it we could trade that information for exile, for you and Cersei” Tyrion explained. He knew it was a longshot, that Cersei would rage against such a thing, that she would insist on Tommen and Myrcella coming with them and that they find a way to put Tomen on the throne but Tyrion hoped Jaime would have more sense.

“I have kept that knowledge safe for half my life and you would have me share it.” Jaime spat out. “They called me Kingslayer when I saved the city. I will not have them looking to me with pity now.” He snapped out, his tone as sour as his mood had become.

“I would. I can live my life in Dorne. I could even be happy, watching Myrcella take Casterly Rock, perhaps I might even return there as an advisor. You cannot be happy here. Do you think Cersei can ever be happy where she is? A _Silent Sister,_ when have you ever known our sister to be silent, or devout for that matter? She will be miserable. I know you are angry about your treatment, angry that you were called Kingslayer for the most heroic act committed in Robert's Rebellion” Tyrion finished, hopping of off his chair to stand by his brother’s side. Jaime's expression was stormy as he resolutely looked anywhere but at Tyrion, but Jaime had never been good at concealing how he felt.

“I sacrificed a lot that day, Tyrion. Cersei will not be happy as a member of the Silent Sisters I agree. I am as worried as you are, what I don’t understand is why you think she would allow herself to become one, to make the vows. Cersei has always been a lioness. She will free herself and come for me, for Tommen first and then Myrcella and then us” Jaime added. Tyrion thought it unlikely that Cersei would try to do anything about his bondage, but he could not disagree that she would try to rescue Jaime. He sighed.

“Perhaps you are right. It is just something to keep in mind” Tyrion finished, shaking his head as if to remove cobwebs. They spent the rest of the afternoon reminiscing on their childhood in Casterly Rock. It was not the most pleasant topic but it was far from the worst.

Cersei stood tall, her hands resting on the rough fabric of the shift she had been given to wear whilst she journeyed to the home of the Silent Sisters that she would be joining. She walked accompanied by a group of stern-faced Septa's who had not said anything to her since her bondage was passed onto them from the knights Stannis had sent with her. It was humiliating and she cursed Stannis over and over again in her head though she remained resolutely silent when the Septa's deigned to speak with her. They seemed content to walk in silence, only speaking to bless the bread they had eaten for their midday meal. A small group of tents had appeared on the horizon, the rainbow flag of the faith waving above the largest.

* * *

 

“This is where we leave you. We will watch you from here, but only those who are to join the Silent Sister's may go closer to their camp” Septa Ragonelle said. When Cersei remained still she tilted her head towards the camp. “I will not repeat myself” _whore_ , Cersei added in her head. She sneered, mimicking Tywin as much as she could, before striding away from the sanctimonious Septa's. She grew more and more nervous as she approached the camp though she was sure to keep her back straight and her fear off of her face. She would not be cowed by _Septa's_ of all people, let alone Silent Sisters.

The Silent Sister's turned as one towers her as she approached. They were in varying states of dress with one if the full regalia of the sect. Cersei maintained eye contact with the one in the headdress, until she felt a tap on her elbow. A woman passed her a sheet of parchment and a pen. This seemed to shock the other woman out of their stupor, as they all returned to various activated, ducking in and out of the tents as she was led into the tent with the Rainbow Flag flying above it. She was led to a table with a steaming pot of soup on it. The Silent Sister gestured for Cersei to take a seat, which she did. The woman made some kind of hand gesture at the other women in the tent and they filed out. The parchment was tugged out of her hand and the woman pulled an inkwell out of nowhere and gently took the pen out of Cersei's hand, dipping it in the inkwell before writing.

_Welcome, I am Cloelia. I lead this tribe of Sisters, in as much as any of us lead eachother.  Whatever journey has brought you to us is immaterial. Eat, drink your fill. You can use this to communicate until you learn the language of hands._

Cloelia waved her hand in front of Cersei's soup before serving herself a bowl. Cersei could not figure out what to address first, and so instead had a spoonful of the soup. It was better than she expected, meatier. Much more filling than any of the slop she had eaten while in the care of the Septa's. Some of her surprise must have filtered through, something Cersei blamed on exhaustion as Cloelia picked up the pen to continue writing.

_Men fear us; they give us tributes of food. When we care for the body of a loved one people give us gifts, High Lords and peasants alike. Once you are finished eating I will show you the alphabet in the language of hands, and teach you the first letters. Spelling out the words will take longer of course but it should cover you once this parchment is full. It will take a few moons before you learn all the words though to our language._

Cersei pushed her soup away, her hunger dissipated. She turned to face Cloelia. Cersei knew little of the Silent Sisters, but their language would be imperative if she were to escape. Cloelia quickly wrote on the parchment. Cersei was glad of the woman small writing if she would only have one sheet.

_Recite the alphabet slowly, I will show you the movement for each letter._

Cersei nodded then began speaking.

* * *

 

As Cersei awoke she slowly became aware of her surroundings. She was warmer than she had been in the sparse cell's the Septa's had. She was sharing a tent with a young girl who also had a piece of parchment with her though it little writing on it. The girl had introduced herself as Iona. She had explained that you could still speak until you took your vows. When she looked over Iona was missing and so she rose, disgusted with the state of her dress.

As she exited the tent she saw there seemed to be some sort of morning meal being prepared. Cersei spotted Iona and Cloelia amongst the other women. There were more of them than she thought there would be, at least twenty milling around, their hands waving in the air. There was a soft cough from behind her and an older woman reached around, taking Cersei's parchment from her.

_I am Ludovica_

The woman – _Ludovica –_ grabbed Cersei's arm and steered her towards the fire. Cersei watched as Iona placed eggs and bread onto two plates and handed them to her and Ludovica. Ludovica grabbed Iona's arm to stop her leaving and slowly seemed to spell out words with her hands. Cersei only recognized a few letters. Iona turned to her then.

“Ludovica wishes to welcome you to our family. She wants to know if you have given any thought to your name.” Iona translated. Cersei was not used to people looking away from her when they spoke to her, with the exception of people looking down. It was disconcerting to the point where she took a moment to understand Iona's words.

“My name?” Cersei asked, her tone dangerous. She would not take insults from a bunch of Silent Sisters, no matter how far she had fallen. Iona moved her hands slowly, her movements less smooth than Ludovica's.

“When you take your vows to become a Silent Sister, you cast off any family associations. You are given the choice of taking on a new given name, though unlike Septa's and Septon's it is not mandatory, and you do not have to choose from the Seven-pointed Star.” Iona explained, twisting her head to look behind her every so often. Ludovica sighed then moved her hands quickly.

“I have to go, I have been assigned breakfast clean up. When you are finished with your plate, bring it over to where we are cleaning. Ludovica wants you to know you have been assigned to shadow her today. She will teach you some more of the alphabet” Iona explained, looking slightly guilty before she walked off. Cersei sighed; she had been given a lot to think about. Though the fact that they chose new names was a slight relief. She had been concerned that no one had used her name and that she would face disdain while she was here. It looked like even if someone knew who she was that they were dedicated to treating her the same as everyone else.

Cersei sat next to Iona with the rest of the woman. Half the woman had donned their masks and left the tribe to visit with a local Lord. They had not said who it was and Cersei still did not know what part of the Kingdom they were in. She thought it likely to be the Reach or the Stormlands given the weather but she did not know. Following around Ludovica had been _interesting,_ though it had cemented her desire not to join the Silent Sisters. Though they seemed to have more time or leisure than a Septa, they still served. Cersei would not stoop to cleaning; she would rather die than clean up some filthy peasant's bodies, let alone a Lord who would once have snivelled at her feet.

She sat in silence, as the rest of the women slowly stood and dispersed throughout the camp. Cersei stood, but was stopped by Iona's hand on her arm. Ludovica and Cloelia had sat across from the on the table, saying something to Iona with their hands. Her bedmate nodded.

“They wish for you to stay. Before you take your vows every sister here will find you and tell you their stories. As you learn our language they will start to do it more privately but until then I am needed as a translator” Iona declared, looking slightly uncomfortable with the intensity of Cersei's stare. Cersei turned back to the other woman. Their stories would at least serve to break up the monotony of her day.

Cloelia began moving her hands.

“Cloelia was born in the north of the Riverland’s in an unremarkable village without a name. She was the youngest of three, her father worked in mill. Her name was Talla; she worked as a servant in a local holdfast until her fourteenth birthday when she left to join the faith. She wanted to read and write and to spread the word of the Seven-pointed Star to the free cities and beyond. While she was training to be a Septa she fell in love with another trainee, named Etta. They planned to leave Westeros and preach in Essos once they had their habit. Unfortunately they were caught together by the Head Septa. They were flogged for their sins, Etta was sent away and Cloelia does not know where. Cloelia was sent to the Silent Sisters as punishment, so that she could not sin again. When she took her vows she chose the name Cloelia, after a legend from where she was born of a woman who ran away and became a star.” Iona recounted. Cersei was silent, as she reappraised Cloelia. The leader of the tribe, stared impassively back at her before resuming her hand speech.

“Cloelia then joined the tribe and rose through the ranks. She is still faithful to the Seven although not to the High Septon or too the Citadel” Iona explained, smiling. Cloelia then stood and left abruptly, Cersei turned confused to Iona to ask her what was going on but Iona was staring at Ludovica who had begun to speak with her hands.

“Ludovica entered the service in a different way, much like you, she was ordered too as a punishment. Ludovica was a whore who became a mistress to a Knight on the Fair Isle. When her knight died his wife had her cast out and shamed for the entire island to see. She fled, humiliated to the mainland where she fell in with a band of thieves. When she grew too old to be of use to them she gave herself as tribute to our tribe. She took the name Ludovica, after the woman in the Seven-pointed Star because she wanted, like the original Ludovica to attain peace and stability. She also wants me to tell you that we will be moving on the morrow and that you have been assigned breakfast clean up with me” Iona translated, before turning to Cersei. There was a small amount of pity on her face, as Ludovica stood up and walked away

“Do not worry, it is not strenuous work. You also will only have to do it for a few days once a moon's turn. Now it is time for me to tell you my story.” Iona began although Cersei didn't care one whit about this child's tale of woe. Working with the chit would be infuriating, having to follow the directions of a child. The only positive was that she had not yet taken her vows, although she seemed to have been with the _tribe_ for a few moon's turns. It meant that Cersei would have time to escape before vows were said. Although it was not impossible to escape after it would make life difficult with the obsession so much of the nobility had with honour, and honouring your vows.

“I do not follow the faith of the seven. I do not follow any faith for that matter, religion and gods have never appealed to me. I prefer to think that instead of being beholden to a god or mysterious power for our fates we are beholden to ourselves and our fellow humans. I joined the Silent Sisters because I did not wish to be a Septa, to have to spread a religion I did not believe in. The reason I joined the faith, though was because I did not wish to marry. It is unusual but I am celibate not because of faith, or because I took vows but because I have no desire to have sex, to fuck. I also did not wish to starve, and had I remained unmarried I would have been an extra mouth to feed and a burden on my parents. This life means I have a reliable source of food and independence. It is hard to begin with, you have to learn how to speak a new language, and you have to learn how to prepare dead bodies, but it gets easier. We have more freedom than Septa's, we have three days off a week where outside of the chores to keep our camp's running we don't have to do a thing. Some of us sew clothes, others ride horses, we play cyvasse. Some sisters train with arms though our vows include non-violence so their skills are never put into use in a real fight. Mattea hunts with a bow and arrow” Iona finished her face expressive. Cersei nodded, pasting a smile on her face. She would need them to trust her if she were ever to escape, and they would not trust her if they thought she did not believe the idyllic picture they were painting of life with the Sisters.

“Thank-you. You have given me a lot to think on. I should like to retire to bed now” Cersei murmured ending the conversation. She waited till she was out of sight before she allowed her lips to twist into a frown as she looked to where she would sleep. The pallets were firm and soft enough, though nothing comparable to the bed she had enjoyed as queen or even to her childhood mattress. Still as she settled in she was grateful for the minuscule comfort it provided as the rustling of the trees sang her to sleep.

* * *

 

_She raised her sword above her head, the sun glinting of the gold and rubies. Stannis cowered at her feet, his Baratheon sigil torn and dusty. He was saying something, begging for mercy most likely; but all she could hear was the cheering of the crowd._

_Cersei._

_Cersei._

_Cersei._

_They chanted. Cersei swung her sword down to stab Stannis in his usurping, treacherous throat, when she stumbled to the left, and then to the right. The wind was shaking her, the crowds disappeared. Panic began to claw its way up her throat as the wind buffeted her from side to side. Stannis disappeared from view._

Cersei's eyes snapped open, Iona was standing over her. As her breathing evened out she became aware of her surroundings. Iona, the tent, the noise of people moving around outside of her tent though there was no sound of talking. _The Silent Sisters,_ Cersei thought to herself. She stood up, brushing off Iona's hand on her arm and fetched the brown dress she had been given the day before. She frowned at it slightly before putting it on. It was better than the grey shift the Septa's had given her. Iona had tried to cheer her by telling her that once she took her vows she would be able to make her own clothes with whatever fabrics they had available, and that they were often given tributes of cloth, silks and linens.

She stepped out of the tent and waited, and how it galled her to have to wait upon a chit of a peasant girl. Though Iona was more intriguing than Cersei had first thought, with her honest admission of a lack of faith she was still a sheep, a peasant, a smallfolk. Iona exited the tent, seemingly in good cheer and she eyed Cersei's elbow as if thinking to link them though she seemed to realize that would end badly.

“Come, we can get a quick breakfast before we have to start cleaning” Iona told her, leading Cersei over to where a woman was calmly tending sausages over a fire. The woman nodded at them before signing something with her hands to Iona, then turning and spelling something to Cersei. It took a few tries, though the woman did not seem to be upset at having to repeat herself till Cersei got it, it was a name. _Salvatrice,_ Cersei nodded politely at the woman though inside she was scoffing. What kind of name was Salvatrice? The woman obviously trying to insinuate salvation of some kind, _pathetic,_ Cersei thought to herself. Iona then signed something back before turning away.

They ate their food in silence as they entered a small covered area. It was not a tent exactly, just oiled leather on sticks providing some shelter. Waiting for them was a woman who had been introduced as Rossana the night before. She was standing in front of a trough of water, Iona taking a place opposite her and gesturing for Cersei to join her.

“Someone will bring the plates in, we wash them and then hand them over to Rossana and Zaira” Iona nodded at a middling woman who had just waddled in. “They will then dry and pack away the dishes and cutlery, ready to be moved. We are leaving after the morning meal so as soon as we are done, we will have to go pack away our tent. This area will be packed away by whoever is not busy” Iona informed her, before reaching for a scrubbing brush her eyes at the far end on the shelter were Cloelia was carrying a stack of dishes that were then deposited in the trough. Cloelia spelled out hello with her hands before moving off. Cersei sighed and mimicked Iona. It would be a long morning.

* * *

 

Cersei hadn't given much consideration to how the Silent Sisters travelled or how they were summoned in her life. It was therefore both surprising and not when she discovered their preferred mode of travel. A long litter was attached to four farm horses, with wheels underneath. Next to that were four horses pulling a cart of similar size which had all the provisions. Cersei was relieved that she wouldn’t have to walk although spending god knows how long in cramped quarters with the other women was not exactly her idea of a good time. Cersei and Iona were loitering in silence after she had rebuffed all attempts the other girl had made to converse. They seemed to be waiting for something as all of the other Sisters slowly trickled in to stand with them. Finally Cloelia appeared and signed something that Cersei couldn’t understand. Iona turned to her to translate.

“We are supposed find seats in the litter” Iona explained unnessacary as Cersei had quickly inferred the instruction from the way the other women were filling up the litter. She made her way on to the litter with Iona behind her. The litter was filled with seats in rows and Cersei stood still for a moment as she glanced around trying to figure out which seat to sit in. Iona touched her had gently before squeezing past her and sitting down in an empty seat with a spare one next to it. Cersei sighed but she wasn’t stupid enough to look that gift horse in the mouth and she gently sat down. The seats were hard, nothing like the cushioned litters she had travelled in as queen, though she ignored any discomfort in favour of relief that she wouldn’t have to walk.

* * *

 

They arrived at their new campsite in the mid-afternoon. They had passed a small castle on the way, though Cersei was no closer to figuring out their location. Her stomach grumbled though and as she stretched to relief the discomfort in her limbs they made cracking sounds. The other Sisters sprang into action, Iona included. They weaved amongst each other, tents springing up quickly. A fire roared to life in the middle of the camp, where it was tended by Ludovica and another sister. Cersei caught movement out of the corner of her eye and saw Cloelia, in her habit and two other sisters leaving the camp. Cersei supposed they were headed to the nearest town or castle to inform the inhabitants of the arrival of the Silent Sisters. She had not yet figured out why they had travelled to this part of Westeros, or how they knew when they were needed. They always seemed to appear after a death, like they did with Jon Arryn. The High Septon said he would call them but she doubted any Septon in this region had that kind of pull.

Iona appeared by Cersei's elbow her hands slowly spelling out the words she spoke. It was frustrating for it meant that it took her three times as long to say what she wanted to say but Cersei did acknowledge she now could understand the spelling of words. Learning the movements for actual words though was taking a frustratingly long time.

“You should gather your belongings from the litter, our tent has been erected.” Iona explained, waiting in silence whilst Cersei gathered her meagre belongings. Iona led her toward the back of the camp, further away from the fire than she would have preferred. The tent looked exactly as it had before, when she entered the bedrolls were positioned in the same place. The only difference was that Iona's belongings were still packed. Cersei raised an eyebrow at that but did not comment. Iona's expression was a tad guilty though Cersei could not fathom why. She was old enough to be the girl’s mother yes, but she was not her mother. What did she care if Iona had unpacked or not.

Cersei turned, and put away her things. A task that took an embarrassingly short amount of time as she waited for Iona to leave. Cersei dearly hoped that she did not have any duties tonight; it had been shaming enough that she cleaned the plates of the other sisters; Cersei did not know if she could cope with anything worse. After ignoring her for a few minutes Cersei's patience ran out.

“What?” She snapped at Iona.

“I just wanted to tell you that tomorrow I will be taking my vows to become a Silent Sister. I will be assigned a tent of my own; you will be the only novice here. Cloelia has decided I am ready. I -” the girl looked slightly uncomfortable but continued speaking. “I will no longer be able to speak with you. Given that you will be the only novice here you will take over my duties as mouthpiece so to speak. When we move again, you will be the one who will communicate with the Lord or townspeople about us. You will also begin to learn about the work we do, with the dead. So far, because you have only been with us a week you have only had to do chores and not many of them but now you will be taught how to deal with a body. You will be allowed to choose a sister to shadow, to whom you shall be apprenticed. Also, Zacier has asked me to tell you that you will be helping prepare dinner tonight” Iona declared before scuttling away to do something Cersei did not care about.  
  
She was glad she would be getting the tent to herself, but that was the only silver lining Cersei could find in this news. She would now have to both learn the trade of the Silent Sisters, which was itself not a bad thing. Learning about the anatomy of the body would at least assuage her boredom, it was the fact that she would be called to serve low-born men and women, and worse lords, ladies and knights who might recognize her. She had hoped to remain with the rest of the sisters; to remain anonymous until such time as she could rescue her children, and Jaime but it looked like that was not to be. Perhaps the habit would mask her face well enough, and if it didn’t, well she would deal with that if that happened.  
  
A smile crossed Cersei's face as she left the tent in search for the kitchen, or wherever they were preparing the food. They could force her to stand there but no one could force her to serve. She would refuse, and take whatever punishment these women would dole out. She was a Lion of Casterly Rock and would certainly out last them all.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the massive hiatus. Hopefully you enjoy.

The hot morning wind blowing through her hair, bringing with it memories of time spent in Lys whilst her brother begged for his crown did nothing to warm the cold that had gripped Daenerys. Her city continued on, unceasing, unaware of her disquiet. Danaerys had claimed this city with blood to bring justice to the downtrodden with blood and fire. She had spent many months trying to grow stability, to grow a new civilisation and all it seemed to have brought was more unrest. She could not let herself regret the course of actions she had taken and yet she felt mired, stuck in never-ending cycle of violence. Sometimes she thought she had been wrong to offer any mercy to the slavers. The blood of the dragon had sung to her to obliterate them, to kill all those who had hurt her children. It was only her terror, her deep fear of following in Viserys's footsteps and allowing the dragon to consume her that had put a stop to the violence. She owed it to the people of this City to ensure their safety but she owed it to herself to finish her journey. To take back the land that had birthed her.

_Westeros._

It was as exotic and mysterious to her as Asshai had been to those in Pentos. A land of Kings, Queens, Princes and Princesses, where those who wore the crown had true power. The land usurped by the scions of the Conquerors bastard brother. Thinking on her homeland filled her with anger, but also longing. Had she not raised an army to take back her rightful inheritance. Daenerys wondered what her fore fathers would think of her, embroiled in a city so far away from where she wanted to be. Did she not have a duty to them as well, to avenge their Kingdom? Meereen bustled below her; the sounds of its denizens barely reaching her ears but loud enough to remind her of her duty to them, to all the slaves. She had started this rebellion and if she did not finish it, if she did not succeed anyone who came after her to try to do the same thing would have an infinitely harder job because of her failure. The plea from Volantis had made that clear enough.

Sometimes Daenerys doubted whether she had the ability to be a good mother to anything other than dragons, whether the title Mhysa was anything other than cruel irony.

 

* * *

 

 

“Khaleesi” Ser Barristan murmured as they left the throne room after yet another afternoon of hearing her people’s stories and requests.

“Yes” Danaerys replied, her head not turning towards her compatriot. She had had trouble focusing her thoughts swirling with grief at the thought of her disloyal bear, who she failed to banish out of her thoughts though it had been nigh on a moons turn since she saw him last. Daenerys doubted the pain of his betrayal would ever cease.

“You have done good work herein Meereen. You have saved countless lives ending the slave trade is an admirable goal, one you seem well on you way to achieving, only you have always spoken to me of Westeros being your ultimate desire…” The Knight of the Kingsguard trailed off. He had stopped walking and seemed determined. She sighed, quietly squeezing her eyes shut, as she again longed for the relative ease of life as a Khaleesi.

“Westeros and the Iron Throne are my birthright as the last living scion of the House Targaryen, yes. One day I do intend to take back the throne but I cannot abandon my duties here to these people” Daenerys turned on her heel and walked away hoping to have ended the conversation.

“Your Grace, I can only advise you. Westeros is currently unstable; this may be your best chance to take it. If you wait too long whoever wins the way, Stannis or Joffrey will have time to cement their hold. They will only gain legitimacy as they do so. Meereen is a sinkhole, Your Grace. I fear if you do not leave now, with appropriate people in charge of course; you will find yourself trapped here” Barristan finished. He remained still and she could tell how difficult it had been for him to offer this council unasked, after decades of being a silent shadow, holding his tongue as Kings sealed their own fates.

“I know, I know I must leave and soon, Ser Barristan” She said, turning to fully face him. Daenerys gestured silently in front of her and began walking up the many stairs towards her council chambers. They walked in silence before Daenerys resumed talking.

“I do not know much about siege warfare, but I know enough of people to know that taking the capital with fire and blood the way Aegon the conqueror took Harrenhal will not endear me to the population I mean to rule. I know this and yet I know not another way. Illyrio Mopatis spoke of some smallfolk who sewed banners of the three-headed dragon and prayed for our return, of Lords and Ladies who wished dragon flame would come and save them from the usurper and yet where are these fabled allies?” Daenerys demanded, nodding to Phar as he opened the door for her. Daenerys sighed, as she lowered herself into the chair at the head of the table, gesturing for Ser Barristan to join her.

“I cannot commit my people to an unwinnable war, I cannot take them halfway round the world without assurances of their survival. I am aware that men and women on both sides will die if I undertake this journey and I need a better plan than what I have” Danaerys finished, glancing out the window where the sun was beginning to set. She could almost trick herself into believing that she could see the Great Grass Sea from this window. Ser Barristan seemed to weigh his words before replying.

“You may not find immediate allies in Lords or Ladies; though I do not doubt that in time you could sway many to your cause. The Lannister’s have not been careful when it comes to the creation of enemies, even amongst the Westerlanders. However, I would think that you would find a Prince and Princess or too more eager to join you then you might know” Barristan explained. Daenerys frowned as she tried to decipher his words. It took a few more moments than she would like to admit but the answer came to her mind.

“The Dornish?” She asked.

“The Dornish” Barristan echoed. “Though in the past there has been no love lost between Martell's and Targaryen’s I think you would find them amenable to helping you; if only to avenge Princess Elia and her children. You may have to make some concessions to them to make amends for how Rhaegar shamed the princess but they will help you.” Barristan explained.

“Concessions?” Daenerys asked, trying to keep her anger out of her voice. It was not his fault. The knight shifted somewhat uncomfortably before answering.

“They managed to negotiate quite a good deal regarding taxes with Jon Arryn and I imagine they will want that to continue. They could also want some sort of official legitimisation order for Prince Oberyn's daughters. There is also the matter of inheritance laws. I imagine that the Princess Arianne at least would be interested in changing the Targaryen rules about female inheritance.” Barristan finished.

He had raised some good points and despite her discomfort with the notion that political compromises were an inevitability she appreciated the honesty.

“Thank you for your advice. As much as I would like to hear that all of Westeros is waiting to hand over the throne to me it is better to know the truth than to be fed lies, like the pretty words Illyrio whispered into Viserys's ear” Daenerys admitted. She did not often think of the Cheesemonger, though without his actions she would not have her dragons or her people. He had been false with them, condescending and her match with Drogo could have ended much worse for her than it did but still, seemingly despite his best efforts he had helped her and she would not forget that. Barristan nodded at her. He seemed relieved that she had accepted his advice and did not look inclined to continue the conversation. Dorne seemed to be the next chapter in her story if she could figure out how to get there without her work in Meereen dissolving. It would not be easy and she would have to deal with Volantis on the way there but it was no more impossible than bringing back dragons.

 

* * *

 

 

It had been two days since she had decided to leave for Dorne and as yet she had no plan to accomplish it. Daenerys wished it was all she had to think about but she was constantly distracted with Meereen and the other slaver cities, with her duties. As she walked towards Missendei's bedchamber she hoped inspiration would come to her quickly. The girl was laying in her bed, and if Daenerys didn’t know better she would assume the child was sleeping. Missendei smiled when she spotted her and Daenerys could not stop herself from returning the smile. Missendei had bled and been enslave for most of her life so it was probably a useless endeavour but Daenerys had vowed that this child would not have her girlhood snatched away the way Daenerys's had been.

“Khaleesi, have you come to continue the story?” Missendei asked, with a hopeful look on her face. Daenerys had been telling her the oral history of House Targaryen, partly because the girl was interested but also because it helped Daenerys herself remember the stories she had been told.

“I have, as I left off Aegon was writing the letters to all the Kings in the land, based on a prophecy spoken by Daenys the Dreamer at the end of her life …” Daenerys began.

 

* * *

 

 

She shut the door to Missendei's room gently behind her, the sound of the girl’s light snores ringing a smile to her face. Spending time with Missendei was always a joy and this time it was more than that; it was an inspiration. Aegon had conquered most of Westeros with a small army and three dragons. Daenerys had three dragons, and the only kingdom not to bow to her ancestor was the one kingdom she was assured to have by her side. She could leave a considerable amount of men behind to ensure peace remained in Slavers Bay, taking only fifty-thousand with her. Presumably she would pick up even more people in Volantis, though even if she did not she would be fine.

It was interesting how it had taken telling the story of the first conquest to Missendei to trigger the realization that she had all the knowledge she needed to take back her birthright. Now she had a strategy she could finally work out the details of the plan. Daenerys smiled as she asked a servant to wake her advisors up. There was no time to lose.

Daenerys stood on the Queen's platform in the amphitheatre. Her people stared at her, rows upon rows filling the stands and the grounds. She wondered briefly why those seated across from her had bothered to stay as she doubted they would be able to hear her speech. Still she pushed that from her mind along with the worry that those who did not hear would be told a false and distorted version of her words and began speaking in High Valyrian.

 

_“Dearest allies, I have gathered you to share news. My time as Queen of this great city and her sisters, Yunkai and Astapor is not yet over though now I shall be ruling from further than ever before. I intend to set out for Volantis, and then Westeros; with the intention not of abandoning you my children but of freeing our brothers and sisters and reclaiming my birthright._

_It will be difficult for all, there will be many trials on our journey but the peace we have achieved here will be mirrored throughout the world. My dragons ensure that; as they ensure that I will never be more than a day away should you have need of me. Though I would ask you to turn towards yourselves, towards the Unsullied who remain to ensure that no petty former slave owners are given the opportunity to rise up to once again strip the liberty of the citizens of Slaver's Bay for their own ends._

_Peace is here, prosperity - the likes of which have never before been enjoyed will come as will justice. Justice for your dead, justice for those who lived in bondage. The Unsullied shall begin the process of reparations in my absence and I ask that you - the rich, former slave owners among the crowd, do not fight against their decree's. You enjoyed free labour for generations, do not complain now that the bill has arrived._

_I shall take only fifty-thousand people with me and my dragons, leaving your safety and security in the hands of my most trusted general Grey Worm. This may come as a shock, but have no fear, you shall not be again forced into slavery, the chains that have been cast off will not worm their way back onto your wrists. I vow to you this in the name of my gods. I will return, victorious, as Queen of the Sunset Kingdom. There will be those who doubt me among you, but I swear I will honour this promise.”_

 

She waited as her words were translated, watching the shock spread across her people’s faces. It was a short speech, it would not be one memorialized; but it had gotten her message across and most importantly it was written by her own hand. As the crowd quietened down Daenerys took her leave, climbing into the palanquin that was waiting for her and returning to her pyramid with haste. It would not do to be out on the street should people disapprove of her decision. Even if they did though, she would not. Grey Worm was loyal and knew these cities in a way even she did not, could not. He would make a fine leader until such time as she chose a permanent ruler. Daenerys had considered leaving Missendei behind, where her safety could be assured; but Missendei had insisted on joining her and Daenerys could not bear to be another person who ignored Missendei's wishes. They would have to make haste to Westeros but on the way back she would offer to take Missendei to Naath to visit her people, or to return permanently - as much as it would break her heart.

As she arrived at the pyramid Daenerys saw that her things were already being packed and taken down to the ships. She felt herself grow melancholy for a moment. Meereen would never be her home but it was the first Kingdom she had ever taken for herself, it would be the first Kingdom captured by the Iron Throne since Dorne was married in. She shook her nostalgia off; I must not look back.

Catelyn's screams reverberated from the walls as she was hit with another contraction. This birth was looking like it would be no more or less painful than any of the babes she birthed for Eddard, which was a relief. She had done this before and could do it again. Catelyn pushed away her terror, memories of her mother's death coming unbidden into her mind like they always did. Willas came from healthy stock, his mother and grandmother were alive which hopefully meant that Tyrell babes were kind to their mother's. She let out another scream.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Willas paced like a caged dog, in the great hall. He could not hear his wife’s cries from here, as his family tried to ply him with food, but he could not eat. He wished at once to be both by Catelyn’s side and as far from Winterfell as he could get. Robert Baratheon’s hunting trips suddenly making much more sense. Time ticked by slowly as his mind wandered down dark paths. Lady Catelyn’s own mother had perished in the birthing bed, and she was not a maiden, strong with youth. He scraped his chair back and walked stiffly from the room, ignoring his family’s questions. Willas made his way unseeing to the small sept Winterfell possessed, supposedly built by the late lord Eddard for his wife, now Willas's wife. He wondered if it were crass to try to seek comfort in such a place, but seeking comfort here nonetheless.

The sept was quiet and dark, the only light coming from the candle he had lit in front of the mother. Willas felt a spasm of pain as he lowered himself to his knees in front of the statue, using his cane to brace himself. He could not shirk his duty though, and do any less when his wife was screaming in pain from doing her own duty. Willas wondered if he should curse the gods for making childbirth such a painful endevour or thank them on bended knee that he would finally have an heir of his own. He had not talked about his preferences with Catelyn, he knew there was nothing she could do to control whether the child was a lord or lady but he hoped for a boy, a son he might raise to become the knight he never could be, a scholar as well. Willas bent his head in prayer.

_Mother Merciful_

 

_I ask that you make my wife’s labours as easy as possible and that you guide her and our child to safety,_

_Please, Mother be merciful; Lady Catelyn is good and dutiful, faithful to the Seven. She has brought your words to the heathen north and spread the words of the seven-pointed star. She is my wife, my lady and the mother of my child and I beg that you ensure they both survive this night and that she doesn’t fall in her battle to bring life into this world. I ask this for the Reach, and the Tyrells and myself._

 

“My Lord, I apologise for interrupting you” a girl’s voice rang out behind him breaking the silence in the sept. Willas rose as quickly as he was able, leaning on his cane more than he would like in front of a stranger. A young woman stood behind him, her tunic embroidered with the green and gold wolf Margaery had taken to grafting onto the clothes of all in her entourage.

“Yes” Willas snapped when she didn’t continue, regretting his harshness immediately as he watched her reflexively recoil. It had taken bravery to come and pass on whatever message she had for him, even though he was crippled he was larger and stronger than her and they were alone. Luckily her bravery did not seem to desert her.

“Your wife has given birth, My Lord. If you would follow me” The girl turned and exited the Sept. Willas stood in shock before hurrying after her.

 

* * *

 

 

Catelyn looked down upon her daughter, her youngest; and could not feel anything other than pride. Her eldest daughter looked down upon the life she and Willas had created together in awe. All her worries, that her children would resent this proof of her moving on, laying with someone other than their father drifted out of her. Her only lingering concern was Willas himself. She knew he wished; as all Westerosi men with something to pass on who lived outside of Dorne did, for a son and she had failed to give him that. Still, looking down at the tuft of coppery brown hair she could not bring herself to wish a son in her daughter’s place.

There was a hesitant knock on her chamber door. Catelyn took a deep breath, clearing her throat before calling out.

“You may enter” She invited, her voice hoarse from screaming. The door swung open and her husband stood on the other side of the threshold looking terrified. She motioned for him to come in, Sansa stepping away quietly. Willas's eyes never leaving the babe suckling at her teat.

“Your daughter, my lord” Catelyn introduced, wincing as she saw Sansa tense at the apology in her voice. Willas stumbled forward, as though drunk and Catelyn had to steel herself from leaning away from him. He righted himself before her bed though and reached out a hand, as if to tough their daughter. Though he did not make contact, seeming content for his hand to hover over the babe’s head. He did not speak.

“My Lord?” Catelyn prompted after a while, regretting it almost instantly as Willas snatched his hand back.

“Does she have a name yet?” Willas asked, his tone of wonder filling Catelyn with relief.

“No, I thought we ought to do that together. I thought, perhaps Minisa for my mother” Catelyn suggested softly. She had wanted to name a daughter after her mother for a long while but her first two had been too soon, she could not have spoken the name without pain, but now that time had tempered the grief she could not think of a more appropriate name for her babe.

“Minisa” Willas repeated, quietly before proclaiming loudly, “Lady Minisa Tyrell of Highgarden; it is perfect my lady”.

“My daughter, Minisa” Willas whispered to himself. “Perfect”

 

* * *

 

 

Daenerys Targaryen stepped off the gang plank and onto the ship that would be her home for the coming months. She wondered if this was how Nymeria of the Rhoyne had felt as she fled with her people. Daenerys had never seen so many ships sailing under the same banner, and felt a surge of pride that it was her uniting them, under the three-headed dragon. She had done what her brother had failed to do.

Out of the corner of her eye, Daenerys spotted Missendei as she flitted around the ship, occasionally providing translations. She had grown so much since Daenerys first met her, eleven moons’ ago. She had a sense of peace about her that Daenerys envied as much as she enjoyed. _Fire and Blood,_ after all could never be misconstrued as anything but violent. Though she could not make herself regret her violence, even if it ensured she would never gain that peace she dreamed of. Violence had broken the chains of her people, and violence would ensure she had her rightful place as Queen of the Seven kingdoms. She knew there were people in her city who plotted a return to slavery, who saw her leaving as a grand opportunity but she had faith her remaining soldiers would keep the peace. After all the unsullied had never lost a city before and they had more motivation than ever to keep this one. She vowed to herself that she would put people and systems in place to ensure that even after her death, and the death of everyone alive now, slavery would be no more.

Missendei would make a good leader one day, and her experience as a slave, and her knowledge of the horrors the unsullied endured, both from her time working as a translator and her experience searching for her missing brothers would ensure that she would never bend in her duty to ensure freedom for all her people. If only she had birthed Missendei, she would be Daenerys's perfect heir; kind, fierce, intelligent. It worried her sometimes, more often now than before, whether whoever led her kingdoms after her would be capable, whether they would be true to her vision. According to all she had learnt about her homeland, an heir of her flesh was necessary, a child of her whom preferred, but even the Usurper had to claim shared ancestry with her father to secure his rule. Her period had been irregular since Drogo - she swiped a tear from her eye, focusing on the top of the pyramids to prevent more from falling - since she was cursed by that witch, and though she held out hope that one day she would have a child of her body, if only to secure her legacy. Still, Daenerys knew she could not rely on that hope and she would need to find an heir, find a babe she could pass off as her own, someone who she could raise alongside her dragons; a future for the Targaryen name, even if the trueborn bloodline died with her.

 

* * *

 

 

Doran sat in the his solar in Sunspear, his feet aching as he watched servants place platters of roasted elk and stuffed peppers atop his desk. Hotah stood solemn behind him, as intractable as the land he had made his own. They sat in silence as they waited upon Oberyn, upon whom his plane hinged. With the excellent timing that had served him well his entire life, Oberyn burst through the door, the hinges shaking as it slammed behind him. Oberyn looked tired, his temple beaded with sweat as he draped himself upon the chair that had been set out for him, helping himself to a cup of lemon water as he did so. They sat in silence as Oberyn downed the water, before he sat up. There was determination in his eyes, guilt as well, guilt that Doran knew his own eyes mirrored. They had not discussed it but he knew that it would destroy them both if Jon Connington spoke the truth, if by their own inaction they had let Elia's son be raised by a drunkard, raised without the honour that befit a Prince of Dorne, let alone the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms.

“Brother, I have arranged my companions. I will be joined by Ser Daemon, my daughter Obara, Ser Arron Qorgyle and Ser Ulwyck Uller, and Nate on the advice of Maester Myles who will tend to our ravens. We leave at first light tomorrow, I have booked us passage on a ship bound for Stonehelm, from there we will journey up the river toward Grandview, and then continue on horseback toward Griffins Roost, and Storms End. I will write sparingly, when I have information.” Oberyn paused, to serve himself some stuffed peppers. Doran followed suit, and they sat in silence whilst eating until Oberyn picked up his explanation. “Should you receive a message from me saying that this boy is blood of Nymeria, and blood of the conqueror know that he is an imposter, that he is false and that I am trapped and in need of rescue. Should I write that he is the true heir to the throne, know that he is false but that I pretend belief and am in no danger.” Oberyn stopped again to pass a piece of parchment over to Doran, upon which he had written his codes. Doran frowned but offered no comment, it would be unwise to trust such vital information only to one mind and he could not fault is brother his caution. “Finally, if I should write that the boy is the son of Elia and Rhaegar, know that I write the truth, and do what you must to ensure our banners are ready to ride for Elia's son.”

Doran nodded slowly, tidying his thoughts before he replied. He speared a piece of roast elk, letting himself savour the burn of the spices. He wondered, not for the first time how things would have been had Oberyn been the elder of them both and raised Dorne as he had wanted for Viserys. Perhaps they could have held out, perhaps they could have sent spies and assassins and killed the Butcher King, in his kingdoms infancy.

“You have chosen wisely; I trust you have impressed upon all your compatriots the importance of this remaining secret?” Doran began. He did not want to upset Oberyn more than he had already, but Doran worried, worried that Obara would fail to hold her tongue, in her cups or to her sisters, worried that all of Sunspear would hear this information and the spies the Lannister’s no doubt had planted would send word, though to which masters Doran didn’t know. Oberyn nodded.

“Have no fear brother, our purpose will remain hidden. Only those travelling with me and Ellaria know our true agenda. We will leave tomorrow at first light and travel to Planky Town. Obara has told her sisters we are headed to the Stormlands to investigate Summerhall to decide if it would be worth it to press the Martell claim to the ruin, through our Targaryen bloodline. No doubt my daughters all know, and Arianne as well. She will say it is no secret so it should not be long until all of Sunspear is aware. It shall give the Baratheon's a nice distraction” Oberyn finished.

Doran sighed, pushing a stuffed pepper around his plate with his fork. It was not kind, what he was doing, but there were no other options and a Prince could rarely afford kindness to individuals. He nodded at his brother, gesturing for Hotah to pour him and Oberyn a cup of wine. He ignored the surprise on his brother's face, if there was any time to indulge it would be now, on the eve of perhaps the most important journey a Prince of Dorne had undertaken in decades.

“I will return to the Watergardens after you leave. Hopefully my departure will mask yours enough that no one will follow you. I wish you luck in this endevour, and Oberyn; I must warn you that if you are caught, we lack the spears to go directly to war with the Baratheon’s, diminished though they are on our own -”

Oberyn interrupts him “I understand, I won't be caught but if I am, Ellaria has letters for my girls. You will have to disavow us, disavow all knowledge of what we were doing so far from Summerhall. We know the risks, I know the risks but it must be me, you are too important to risk” _to weak to go yourself_ , was the unspoken end of his sentence. It was times like these that Doran most hated his body. He wished to be able to go himself, to set eyes on the child claiming to be his nephew, but he knew that even had he been as able-bodied as Oberyn he would have to remain, as ruling Prince he could go nowhere in secret, he had to be visible, had to lead his people, to ensure peace held at all costs; even when that cost broke his heart.

 

* * *

 

 

Daenerys barely stopped herself from frowning as yet another plate of fish and pickled cabbage was placed in front of her. It was not her servants fault, and she knew she was lucky, that she was being given the choicest parts of the meal every day and yet when she finally landed in Westeros she would never be able to so much as look at more pickled cabbage again. Still it would prevent illness, and she must set a good example for Missendei so she would stomach it At least there was some variation in the fish that the sailors were catching as they travelled. The pink-fleshed trout giving way to eel, which in turn gave way to the salty sardines they were now eating. Daenerys was lucky her dragons were able to fly and hunt for themselves though she worried about them as well, worried that they were not restraining themselves to animals, alas though there was naught she could do. There was nowhere to hold them and no room for live animals on the ships.

Though her army was relatively large, fifty-thousand soldiers in total, the walls of Volantis meant it would be her dragons that would win the city, as well as support and guerrilla warfare from the inhabitants, which should be enough to ensure that Volantis would fall to her, and that Volantis in turn, would ensure that all other slaving cities would renounce their ways. They planned to travel a day past Volantis and then up one of the smaller rivers that would join the Rhoyne, decamp and then attack from the western front, where hopefully they could be met by allies, or at least without resistance. Once they have taken that and the bridge, the Unsullied would lead a slave revolt that should secure the rest of the city. It would be an onerous task and it would take at least one moon's turn and she would have to leave forty-thousand of her unsullied to ensure that Volantis did not fall back into old habits, though there was hope that pressure from Braavos would ensure that the elites of Volantis did not get any reinforcements. It had to be done before she landed in Dorne. Before she died, Daenerys would ensure that no-one remained in bondage, that no one laboured without recompense again.


	15. Chapter 15

The great black and white towers of Stonehelm rose up through the mist that had descended upon the mouth of the Slayne. It was a relief to see it and know that they would be able to disembark the cramped quarters of the fishing boat they were on. Oberyn had arranged to trade labour in part for their journey, as they would be taking space that would otherwise be filled with labourers. He knew they had not made a good deal in truth, but they needed a quick way across the sea and they needed to be unnoticed. Using assumed names meant secrecy but also abandoning his privilege as a Prince of Dorne. Still his reputation ensured no one would ever associate Alyn with Oberyn. They disembarked quickly, ignoring the angry mutters behind them as they left the skeleton crew to unload the catch, making their way to the inn. Oberyn ignored the mutters that followed them as he bartered for rooms, and a bath. It was perhaps optimistic but hopefully once they bathed and the stench of fish was lifted they would become unremarkable, though in this part of the world their skin likely precluded them from any form of anonymity, which was exacerbated by Nate and his squawking birds.

The innkeeper, Johann, was obviously wary about letting them stay, but Dornish gold is still gold and he could tell they needed it.

“Yer room's'll be ready soon.” Johann grunted, turning to a boy who couldn't be more than ten years old, “fetch the men some ale, then” he ordered, though he did so with a smile. Oberyn didn't bother correcting him, though he knew Obara wouldn't be pleased. It was not worth the fight, and men north of the Red Mountains always had such a time believing a woman could fight. The child nodded and scampered away behind the bar. “Me youngest” Johann explained, “already knows 'is way 'round the Stags 'ead. Gonna run this place one day” Johann finished, grinning proudly as his son carried out a tray of ale. His pockmarked face, and ragged beard glowing at the sight of his child. Oberyn smiled, as he passed out the ale's, slipping the child a silver stag. He nodded to the innkeeper.

“Thank you,” Oberyn murmured as he led his party to a dim corner of the Inn. It was hardly clean, though relatively tidy and he was glad they were only staying one night before they moved on. Still, he would be sure to leave a generous tip. No father that proud could be a bad man, and with the war on they probably needed it.

 

* * *

 

Oberyn sighed as he finished the bread and slightly stale cheese Johann had rustled up to break their fast. Obara had come back to their rooms the night before with the unwelcome news that they would not be able to take a boat up the river, as the Slayne was full of waterfalls and rapids. They would need to acquire some horses, or mules more likely to take them directly to Griffins Roost. Oberyn was fiercely glad for his brother's caution, because it meant that they had enough coin to cover the expense. The letter he had sent off with one of Nate's ravens earlier that morning had been short, simply telling his brother that they had arrived in Stonehelm and were preparing to leave.

He had been right that Obara had misliked being thought of as a man, though she did concede that it was probably safer. She had restrained herself to only three cups of ale the night before which was something of a relief, though Oberyn still worried. It was partly why he had brought her along, perhaps travelling without the chance to drink any ale or wine would help her curb her appetites for drink. It worried him how often she seemed to comfort herself with it, he wondered always whether there was anything he could have done, anything he could do to help her. Sometimes late at night a traitorous voice in his head wondered whether her mother could have helped, whether he should have been kinder to the whore. He cleared his mind, there was no use dwelling on his mistakes; if they were even mistakes. A daughter who drank too much was infinitely preferable to a daughter forced to work in the brothel she had been raised in.

 

* * *

 

 

The Targaryen banners flapped loudly in the wind as they sailed past the ruins of the Valyrian Empire. They gave the Smoking Sea a wide berth, it was only visible through the looking glasses. Daenerys itched to see it up close, to understand why it had failed, how her ancestors knew to abandon it when they did. When the dragons returned from their hunt she would saddle Drogon and fly closer, though she would obey the warnings and stay in the air. Daenerys wondered what lessons she could learn from it, what mistake the Valyrians had made that caused them to be so destroyed.

 

* * *

 

Drogon snorted as she adjusted her grip on one of his spikes, fire spurting out of his nostrils. They were high above the ruins of the city of Valyria. Her ships had disappeared from view; she was perhaps as alone as it was possible to be in this world. The cliffs swooped around the ruins of the buildings, she wondered how many bodies remained, how many people’s bones were buried underneath the rubble. She shivered, even with the heat of Drogon almost burning into her leg's, her bones ached with cold. She could learn naught more from this endevour though, so she sent a quick prayer to any god that would listen to watch over the lost souls of Valyria before turning Drogon back and returning to her fleet, and her duty.

 

* * *

 

The red stone cliffs that surrounded Griffin's Roost rose slowly in the distance as they made their way towards the castle. Oberyn's feet ached as he walked alongside one of the mules they had purchased in Stonehelm, the mules had been stout though and carried the packs well as they made their way alongside the Slayne, through the forests that bordered the river. The mountains had been steep, though littered with streams and shade, kinder than the Red Mountains of Dorne. They were taking longer than he, and Doran had anticipated and their delay in Crow's Nest had been unavoidable, they had to purchase new shoes for their party from the one cobbler in the small village, and the mules. They were lucky though that the men the Golden Company had sent to take Crow's Nest were new to Westeros and led by a man who had never met Oberyn or any of his compatriots. The upheaval meant that the locals all assumed they were with the invaders, and that meant they were charged thrice what they should have been, but there was little anyone could do and Oberyn did not wish for anyone to discover their party until such time as he could speak to Jon Connington himself, and lay eyes on the boy claiming to be Elia's son.

They would need to make camp at least one time more before they reached Griffin's Roost, Oberyn hoped they would be met by Jon there, and that they would not need to make for Storms End. His curiosity was raging and every day that went by where he did not get answers to his questions was another day the anger in him grew. How dare Jon Connington not tell Doran and him that Elia's son still lived, if Elia's son in fact still lived. How dare he rob Aegon of the chance to grow up in the Water Gardens alongside his cousin's, and the other children. Aegon was a Prince of Dorne and deserved that peace. _How dare he?_

 

* * *

 

The mouth of the off-shoot of the Rhoyne was larger than Daenerys had expected, large enough that they could go comfortably three abreast down the river. She had kept her Dragons on the prow's of her ships for the past day so as to not alert Volantis of their arrival, but she knew that with an army the size of which they had, and the fame of the Dragons it was unlikely that they would have the element of surprise. A third of her ships would travel up the Rhoyne and then turn and travel down towards the mouth again, to provide a naval attack on the city, the rest would be beached along the river and left as the rest of her army marched towards Volantis. Even now they were only half a day’s ride from the western half of the city, where the city walls were weaker. She wondered if they would be met, if Volantis would try the diplomatic option before war, whether the slaves would appoint a leader to talk to her. She hoped she would be able to pick up more advisors in Volantis, as she had left Grey worm behind to lead Meereen, and Ser Barristan was only one man. It would be good to have advisors loyal to her, though she did expect to have to accommodate Dornish advisors as well.

 

* * *

 

Daenerys's lips twisted into a grimace, she had been correct in that she was met in the outskirts of the city by the Triarchs, or more accurately slave's sent to impersonate the Triarchs. She supposed it was good strategy, if she burnt the men they had sent the leaders would remain unharmed; but it spoke to how little they respected her intelligence that they tried to fool her in this way. As though she would not know what a slave looked like, as though she would take a look at their blank faces not notice the way they held themselves, as though any man with a choice would face her dragons. One of the men stepped forward.

“Welcome, Mother of Dragons, Daughter of the Targaryen's, Daughter of the Empire of Valyria to Volantis, the First Daughter. I am Triarch Nyessos Vhassar, of the Elephant Party. We have friends in common, the great Illyrio -”

“Lies” Daenerys declared, watching with a small amount of pity the shock that spread across the man's face.

“I, my lady, I do not lie. The great Illyrio Mopatis is indeed -” he tried again

“The great Illyrio Mopatis may indeed be a friend to Nyessos Vhassar but you are not Nyessos Vhassar. You are someone he has sent in his stead to distract me whilst the slave mongers of this city lock their gates in order to force me to besiege them” Daenerys finished, before softening her tone. It would not do if her reputation scared the people she was trying to help more than they were scared by their masters. “Take a deep breath, you are not in any danger. I have no quarrel with you or your brethren. I only quarrel with the Triarchs, the Masters of this city. They men and women who think to own people.”

“We can offer you money, gold, arms. A navy that all fear to take back the Iron throne -” The man tried again, his voice wavering.

“I have money, gold and arms. I have ships. I have dragons. What I want is for your master's to free all those in this city who are enslaved, for them to be released to live and work here, or to follow me to a new life across the sea. I want gold for you, gold for the slaves of this city. Send the message to your masters that they have till the sun set's to acquiesce to my demands or I will take this city the way I took Meereen.”

The man made to reply, but then seemed to think better of it, nodding and turning away. He spoke in hushed tones to the other 'Triarchs' before pivoting back to her.

“I will pass on the message, but I warn you, your grace that they will not agree.” he murmured. “You will doom us all”

Daenerys swallowed roughly, her stomach knotting. It was her greatest fear after all, that she would become the Mad Queen, the true heir to her father's legacy, but _I must not look back._ She could not stop her journey now that she had started, could not stop until she had broken all the chains that bound innocent lives. She would leave a better legacy, a legacy of freedom.

“They will agree or they will die” she replied, turning on her heel and walking back towards Barristan. It was time to begin planning their attack. She had an army coming down the Rhoyne after all, and she would not abandon them.

 

* * *

 

Steel clashed with steel, rocks crashed into the Rhoyne, people screamed and the heat, the heat was damning. Sweat dripped down the necks of the fighters, Unsullied fought side by side with street cleaners and whores. Slaves beat their masters to the ground and where in turn trampled by elephants. The dragons swooped above them, breathing fire into the clouds, heating the scene below them. The Long Bridge did not sway, or move or creak under the barrage though the buildings upon it were swaying dangerously. Being battered by arrows and trebuchets from the water as well. The Mother of Dragons ships providing support to those fighting their way through. They had nearly made their way across it, more and more freedmen and women with their hands in the air being pushed aside mercilessly by the wave of people heading toward the gateway. Once they had broken through they would make their way to the Black Walls behind which the nobles of the city were no doubt luxuriating in the splendour of their lives. They would not notice if their slaves died and were replaced. Though Bolv thought grimly, the Mother of Dragons would make them notice, if she had to burn their spoilt bodies herself.

 

* * *

 

The Black Walls slowly began to melt underneath the onslaught of her dragons. Daenerys had instructed her men to retreat, to take everyone and move them back across the bridge. Only a small contingent remained, small enough that they could run should they need to. She had heard stories about the ruined castle of Harren the Black, twisted and melted but still standing. She would provide the same mercy as her forefather if the Triarchs of Volantis had the sense to ask for it.

Great globs of melted stone were dripping to the ground, dissolving whatever they landed upon. It was a small mercy that they were slow, and Daenerys stopped her work to fly down. She instructed her men to retreat, it would do no one good if they were to be killed by the melting stone. Rhaegal cried out, and Daenerys's neck twisted around to watch as he flew up, above the clouds, a spear embedded in his wing. It would not kill him but it brought Daenerys a much needed sense of urgency. Any guilt she had felt about people on the other sides of the wall melted away as she began her work again.

Keeping the dragons low as she melted the walls, ignoring the screams from the other side as holes appeared wherever the dragons focused. She kept going, slowly bringing them down, until out of the corner of her eye she saw a flash of white.

 

* * *

 

Their arrival at Griffins Roost had been met by surprise; though Oberyn was unsure how much of it was feigned. In the end it was a moot point though, as Jon Connington was said to have left two moon's past with a significant portion of his host in order to take back Storms End. He apparently took most of his war council with him, leaving on only Franklin Flowers, a green-apple Fossoway bastard ruling the keep. He had asked after the previous inhabitants, and had only heard that they were being held in a tower of the keep. It was no matter, he had no allegiance to those men after all, no allegiance to any allies of the Baratheon’s. They had lost their secrecy though, something that galled him as much as it relieved him. There would be no point in not travelling now, with all the auspices of a Prince of Dorne, no more travelling as a peasant.

Unfortunately, though, there would be more travel and soon. Franklin had informed them that they would be travelling to Storms End to meet with his liege the day after the morrow, with a small retinue of guards he could spare. Oberyn could tell it infuriated Obara that they obeyed the word of a Reachmen, but they were sorely outnumbered even if he had wished to disobey. As it was he saw little point, Oberyn wished to go to Storm's End as much as Franklin Flowers appeared to wish to be rid of them. Or at least he appeared to wish to be rid of the men, Obara seemed to have enamoured him. He had watched her and flirted ever since she knocked him on his arse the previous morning in the yard. It was a feeling he understood, dangerous women were incredibly attractive, but he doubted there was any risk of Obara returning the man’s affections. Their shared origins as bastards of the Reach safely inured her against any potential desire.

It was getting late though and he had to write his letter to Doran to update him on what had happened.

 

_Doran,_

 

_We have arrived at Griffins Roost. We missed Jon Connington and his ward by two turns of the moon. We ride soon to Storms End. I shall send a missive then with more details._

 

_I love you, brother. Give my children, Ellaria, Arianne, and Trystane mine and Obara's love._

 

_Oberyn_

 

* * *

 

 

As the sun rose on Volantis, its light beginning to glint of off the ruined walls of the city, Daenerys blinked back her exhaustion, as she listened to a Red Priest whose name she had forgotten argue with the only Triarch that had not been killed, whilst they were surrounded by the beginnings of a council. The Volantenes had been unprepared for an attack from above. It had been long since dragons were in the world, longer still since Volantis and the other free cities had been threatened by them. She hoped word of her victory would spread, and prevent anyone else from foolishly trying to deny her. Daenerys had spent the better part of the night and most of the morning attempting to negotiate the freedom of the slaves of Volantis, to negotiate new elections for the Triarchs of the city with all the new voters. She also had to count the dead, organize parties to find out their numbers, and hopefully their names though she knew there would be some, too many who would die and be forgotten. Whose sacrifice in the name of freedom would be unrecorded. She squeezed her eyes shut, a tear of exhaustion dripping from her eyes. Daenerys took a deep breath, and stood up making her way over to Ser Barristan.

“Dismiss them. Tell them we will reconvene tomorrow once we have had a chance to count our dead and begin to take stock of the destruction, once we have had a chance sleep. Our heads are clouded with exhaustion and anger.” She murmured before departing, ignoring the shocked spluttering at her abrupt departure.

Missendei followed and Daenerys led her to the room she had claimed for her and Missendei. She undressed slowly, redressing in her sleep clothes before climbing up into the bed, patting the other side of the bed in an indication for Missendei to join her. Daenerys doubted the girl had had any more sleep than she had and the child’s stiff movements as she prepared for bed confirmed her thought. As the curtains were pulled Daenerys closed her eyes and tried to find sleep. They would not be left alone for long, and she had a city to restructure. As she fell asleep Daenerys wondered, could Meereen be ruled by Triarchs as Volantis is, with a senate of a hundred lesser representatives perhaps, instead of a Lord Paramountcy the rest of her Kingdoms would be. She closed her eyes and dreamt of her arrival in Westeros, dreamt of being welcomed like the daughter of the conqueror she was.

 

* * *

 

Daenerys awoke with a start, fumbling blindly as the bright light of the sun dragged her from sleep. She turned her head to see Missendei speaking softly with a maid who had carried a tray of food into the room. Daenerys rubbed her face, as her eyes adjusted to the light, the scent of stewed pork wafting towards her. As she walked towards Missendei, the maid fell to her knee's bringing Daenerys to a standstill. She frowned slightly and Missendei who reached down to pull the girl to her feat.

“Thank you...?” Daenerys trailed off, waiting to hear the girls name.

“Nyra, your grace” the girl murmured, bowing deeply.

“Thank you, Nyra. If you could find Ser Barristan's quarters and tell him to meet me outside my rooms in half an hour.” She instructed, smiling at Nyra as she bowed again before quickly leaving. They could hear her feet slapping the tiled floors as she ran.

“Eat, Missendei. I will dress and then join you” Daenerys said as she pulled yesterday's tunic off of the floor. She was quiet as she tried to commit her dream to memory. She hoped that she had inherited her ancestor’s gifts for dreaming of the future, but it was more likely a pleasant dream. She had dreamt of arriving in Kings Landing, her army and dragons behind her, people shouting her name.

 

_“Daenerys”_

 

_“Daenerys”_

 

_“Mhysa”_

 

_“Mother”_

 

_“Queen Daenerys”_

 

_“Daenerys Targaryen”_

 

_“Khaleesi”_

 

_“Khaleesi”_

 

_“Khaleesi”_

 

_Red and Black cloth waved in the wind, the sun beat down upon her as she walked towards her future home. The Red Keep rising high, the cobbled stones warm underneath her feet. Everywhere she looked there were children crying out her name, playing. Children whose hair glinted black and red and golden and silver and brown under the summer sun, they were dressed in silks and leathers, all of them fat and happy. She kept walking, through her city. Markets popping up and then disappearing, through winding streets though always the Red Keep was visible, in the same spot and it grew and grew._

It was a lovely dream and Daenerys regretted waking from it, though she knew that it would never be achieved if she slept through her conquest. She finished her meal then steeled herself for the destruction she had wrought to Volantis.

 

* * *

 

It had been nearly a week since she had alighted her ship in Volantis, and much had changed. The Black Walls no longer stood tall, melted and twisted as they were. They had declared all the slaves free, though it was taking time to ensure that that decree was obeyed. It seemed every hour there were reports of slaves who had been kept in cellars by their Masters during the fight, people who had thought to take their slaves and run. At least daily she petitioned by a former slave to reinstate slavery, though when investigated an appalling number of those who had asked her to re-enslave them had missing children who reappeared once her Unsullied searched the house of their former masters. She wondered at what kind of person could do such a thing; divorce themselves so willingly from the humanity of their fellow people and see them only as chattel, as things to be bought and sold.

They had scheduled elections for two new Triarchs, and they were arranging for polling stations to be set up all around Volantis with stamps so that no one could vote twice. There were innumerable candidates though the Widow of the Waterfront had yet to give her blessing on anyone. Daenerys would stay though to ensure that it was a fair election, that those who were previously in power did not try to prevent the newly freedmen of Volantis from voting. Daenerys herself had been asked many times who she thought ought to win, but had restrained herself from sharing her opinion even in the face of nominees who claimed to want to rape her, and return Volantis to its slaving days. She did not wish to get bogged down in Volantis, and getting too involved in the politics would force her to stay longer. She dreamt of Westeros, after all.

Daenerys would be sad to leave the city, though as much as she despised its history, as uncomfortable as she was in the face of her own destructive capabilities. _Fire and Blood,_ seemed somewhat tame when faced with the realities of dragon warfare. She would be sad though, for she was to leave forty-thousands of her men behind, to keep the peace, and to ensure that Volantis did not slide backwards. In three years’ time though, they would journey forward to Westeros if they so choose, to live in her empire. Given that she had no intention of joining Volantis to the Seven Kingdoms, the way she had Slaver's bay this was the best option.

 

* * *

 

The rain beat down upon them and their horses as the Stormlands lived up to their name. The had been riding through the storm for nearly four hours now, as it started less than an hour after they had left their camp. Their group had grown, and now they had ten men of the Golden Company with them as well as Obara, Nate and the knights they had brought with them from Dorne. The men from the Golden Company had kept to themselves and though they had been travelling with them for more than a day, and camped with them for a night Oberyn still only knew the name of their leader, a Lysene man named Sandro. They were poor scavengers though, unused to the wild roots, and fruits of Westeros.

Storms End had appeared just as they began to stop to make camp the night before, their horses meaning they rode with speed, though none of the horses were as fast as a Sand Steed. The Castle was intimidating, a fortress in the truest sense of the word, though it lacked the finesse, and the beauty of Sunspear. It was where Aegon was said to be though. As they got closer Oberyn looked for signs of siege warfare, though he could see none. The Golden Company had spoken as though the bulk of their force had gone to Storms End so surely there must be some sign of them, unless they had managed to take the castle. Oberyn would be impressed if that were the case, though Storms End would be more likely to acquiesce to another Stormlander, like Jon Connington; he would have to have been very persuasive given the loyalty the Stormlanders held to Robert's legacy, even if they could not decide which of his brothers or potential children they would champion.

 

* * *

 

As they made their way closer, the storm clouds having cleared it became apparent that Jon Connington had indeed claimed the castle. The three-headed dragon banner waved proudly atop the bannerments of the Castle, the gates were open and as they arrived Oberyn began to recognize the banners of the golden company, black spears with golden skulls on a cloth of white, or cream. Men wearing the image on their tunics, dotted the walls. They entered into the Castle without anyone attempting to stop them, or ask after their business. Mayhaps they simply thought such a small group could do no damage, a belief Oberyn itched to prove wrong, or mayhaps they had simply had word of the arrival.

It proved to be the latter as Oberyn and the rest of their party dismounted, the chatter around them ground to a halt. He turned his head away from where he was relieving his horse of her burden to see the lined face of Jon Connington striding towards them; which appeared startled. Oberyn was glad to see he was recognized but Jon Connington clearly expected someone else, Princess Arianne mayhaps. He was flanked by men, presumably from the Golden Company. As far as Oberyn could see though there was no one with them who could possibly be Aegon. Oberyn offered his hand to shake, and was surprised when instead Jon Connington bowed.

“Well met, my prince” Jon greeted, his voice rough. Oberyn could see the lines on his face from age, and from misuse. It seems the rumours that he had turned to drink for solace were not entirely unfounded, even in the rumour of his demise was.

“My Lord” Oberyn replied, waiting for Jon to introduce his companions. When instead he was met with only a wan smile, Oberyn turned slightly. He gestured for his daughter to come forward. “This is my daughter, Obara Sand” He introduced before waving his hand behind him. “My friends Ser Daemon Sand” He brought Daemons hand to his, his lips brushing over the knights. Oberyn watched the Golden Company for any signs of disapproval, and was gratified when he saw none. Sometimes he had found, that men who looked to each other for comfort, men who saw naught wrong with what many would call sins of the flesh away from their home and family became extremely religious, and strictly moral when they returned. He was glad to see the mores the Golden Company enjoyed in Essos had come with them to Westeros. “Ser Arron Qorgyle and Ser Ulwyck Uller, and Nate who tends to our birds” Oberyn finished his introduction. He waited again for Jon Connington to do the same, but he seemed to be stuck, struck dumb by the casual kiss Oberyn had laid upon Ser Daemons hand.

“My Prince, this is Lysono Maar and Caspor Hill” he motioned to his companions. Lysono Maar was beautiful, every inch the Valyrian. He was more beautiful than Rhaegar Targaryen had been and Oberyn wondered if perhaps that was why Jon Connington kept him around. The rumours of the man's devotion to his silver prince had been rampant after all. The Westerlander bastard was far less appealing to look upon. He was a large man, scarred with an enormous beard. He was fat, though judging from the weapons he was carting around he was not a weak man.

“Come, you must be exhausted. There are many rooms in this castle where you can rest” Jon said as he turned, obviously expecting them to follow.

“We are, though I would ask that before we rest, if it were possible for us to meet the King” Oberyn asked, trying to inject as much deference into his voice as he could. It was not a request though, they had travelled to far and for too long to delay this meeting any longer. He had to know, had to see for himself whether Elia's son had lived.

“He is in lesson's now” Jon replied shortly, as he led them up the stairs of the castle.

“I am sure though that they can be interrupted. I am the King's family after all, and it must have been so long since he has been with anyone of his blood” Oberyn retorted, his frustration seeping through. Finally, Jon Connington nodded.

“As you wish, my Prince”

 

 

* * *

 


End file.
